








V w 



1 



I 


i 

I 


I 







♦3X)0>EHYEAR 


PUBLISHER 


POST OFPlc^ 

SECOND CLASS 


NO 80. DECEMBER 10, 1894 


Marion 


MRS. MARY J. HOLMES’ NOVELS 


Over a MILLION Sold. 


TJBE JTJEWf^ BOOK 


MARGUERITE 


JUST OUT. 


The following is a list of Mary J. Holmes’ Novels. 


lEMPEST AND SUN- EDITH L7LE. 

SHINE. DAISY THOBNTON. 

ENGLISH OBFHANS. CHATEAU D OB. 
SOMESTEAD ON THE GUEENIE HETHEB- 


HULSIDE. 
lA BIVEBS. 
}W EBOOK. 
)BA DEANE. 
)USIN MAUDE. 
OBEY. 



TON. 


ETHELYN’S MISTAKE. 
MULBANK. 

EDNA BBOWNINO. 
WEST LAWN. 
T>irrr.T»t.T.T> 


DABKNESS AND DAY- EOBBEST HOUSE. 

LIGHT. MADELINE. 

HUGH WOBTHINGTON. CHBISTMAS STOBIE& 
CAMEBON PBIDE. BESSIE’S FOBTUNE 
BOSE MATHEB. GBETCHEN. 

MABGUEBITE. (Asw. 


MAmOK HABLAKD'S 


SPLENDID NOVELS. 


The Following is a List of the Novels by the Author of “ Alonb/’ 


ALONE. 

HIDDEN PATH. 
MOSS SIDE. 
NEMESIS. 
MIEIAM. 

STONY BANK. * 
BIJBT’S HUSBAND. 
AT LAST. 


MY LITTLE LOVE. 
PHEMIE’S TEMPTATION. 
THE EMPTY HEABT. 
PBOM MY YOUTH UP. 
HELEN GABDNEB. 
HUSBANDS AND HOMES. 
JESSAMINE. 

TBUE AS STEEL. (New.) 


These vols. can be found at any bookstore in the cloth-bound 
library edition. Price $1.50. 

All handsomely printed and hound in clothe sola everywhere, nd 
sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price ($1.50 emsh), iy 



G. W. DILLINGHAM, PUBLISHFiR, 


33 West 23rd Street, N. Y. 




. » 




iu wO. 


i .» 




1 * 



THE SELECT NOVEIfi 

OF 


MARION HARLAND. 



ALONE. 

HIDDEN PATH. 
MOSS SIDE. 
NEMESIS. 

MIRIAM, 

SUNNY BANK 
RUBY’S HUSBAND. 
AT LAST. 


MT LITTLE LOVE. 
PHEMIE’S TEMPTATION. 
THE EMPTY HEART. 
FROM MY YOUTH UP. 
HELEN GARDNER. 
HUSBANDS AND HOMES. 
JESSAMINE. 

TRUE AS STEEL. (New.) 


* The Novels of Marion Harland are of surpassing ex- 
cellence. By intrinsic power of character-draw- 
ing and descriptive facility, they hold 
the reader’s attention with the 
most intense inte^st 
and fascination.^ 


Ah published uniform with this volume. Piioe 
each, and sent/ree by mail, on receipt of prlot.' 

G. W. Dillingham. Co., Publishers 


NEW YORK. 


I'HE EMPTY HEART; 

Uli, 

HUSKS. 


“FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.” 



Bt 

MAPJOR^ IIARLARD, 

AUTHOR OK 

*‘AX(OSS,” “HIDDEN PATH,” “XKMESJS,” MOSS-BIDE,” “MIRIiLid,” “ Hltl RM 
OAUDNEfL” “SUNNY'B.VNlv,” “lILlSiiANDtt AIxH) HOMES,” “ilUDY’fl 
HESHAND,” “FUEMIE'S TEMPTATION,” KTa 



\ 


TO 








31794 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by 
M. VIRGINIA TERHUNE. 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the Southern 

District of New York. 


Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1899, by 
M. VIRGINIA TERHUNE, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. 


(all rights khskkvhd.) 


T>ie Empty Heart, 


/ -.'v ^ « 'W _ 





VvMAf* .“V O-A. 




HUSKS 


CHAPTER I. 

It was a decided uncompromising rainy day. There 
were no showers, coquetted with by veering winds or 
dubious mists, that at times grew brighter, as if the sun 
were burning away their lining; but a uniform expanse of 
iron gray clouds — kept in close, grim column by a steady, 
although not violent east wind — sent straight lines of heavy 
ram upon the earth. Th^ naked trees, that, during the 
earlier hours of the deluge had seemed lo shiver for the 
immature leaf-buds, so unfit to endure the rough nandling 
of the storm, now held out still, patient arms, the rising sap 
curdled within their hearts. The gutters were brimming 
streams, and the sidewalks were glazed with thin sheets of 
water. 

The block of buildings before w^hich (tur story pauses, 
was, as a glance would have showed the initiated in the 
grades of Gotham life, highly respectable, even in the rain. 
On a clear day when the half-folded bunds revealed th 
lace, silken, and damask draperies within; when young 
misses and masters — galvanized show-blocks of purple and 
fine linen, that would have passed muster behind the plate* 
glass of Genin or Madame Demorest — tripped after hoops, 
or promenaded the smooth pavement ; when pretty, jaunty 
one-horse carriages, and more pretentious equipages, each 
with a pair of prancing steeds, and two “outside pas 


8 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


Bengers’’ in broadcloth and tinsel hat bands, receired and 
discliarged their loads before the brown-stone fronts — ^had 
the afore-mentioned spectator chanced to perambulate this 
not spacious street, he would have conceded to it somt 
iegree of the fashion claimed for it by its inhabitants, 
^here were larger houses and wider pavements to be had 
or the same price a few blocks further on, in more than one 
direction, but these were unanimously voted “ less eligible’’ 
and ‘‘ deficient in style,” in spite of the fact that as good 
and better materials were employed in their construction, 
and they were in all respects equal in external show and 
inside finish to those in this model quarter. But our 
block has a certain air — well — I don’t know what ; but it 
is just the thing, you know, and so convenient! So near 
the Avenue !” would be the concluding argument. 

The nameless, indescribable charm of the locality lay in 
the last clause. ‘‘ J ust step around the corner and you are 
in the Avenue,” said the favored dwellers in this vicinity, 
n: the climax in the description of their abode, and “that 
yidij fashion lies” to every right-minded New Yorker of the 
feminine gender. 

But tlie aristocratic quiet of the neighborhood, rendered 
oppressive and depressing by the gloom of the day, was 
disturbed by a discordant sound — a child’s cry ; and what 
was especially martyrizing to refined auriculars, the lament 
had the unmistakable plebeian accent. The passionate 
scream with w'hich the pampered darling of the nursery 
resents interference with his rights and liberty of tyranny, 
or the angry remonstrance of his injured playmates, would 
have been quite another species of natural eloquence, as 
regards both quality and force, from the weak, broken wail 
that sobbed along the wet streets. Moreover, what re- 
spectable child could be abroad on ibot in this weather I 
So, the disi’espectable juvenile pursued Uer melancholy way 


H USB. B. 


iinnotKH^d and unquestioned until she reached the middle 
of the square. There a face appeared at a window in the 
second story of a house — which only differed from those to 
its right, left and opposite in the number upon the door— 
vanished, and in half a minute more a young lady appeared 
in the sheltered vestibule. 

“ What is the matter, little girl 

The tone was not winning, yet the sobs ceased, and the 
child looked up, as to a friendly questioner. She was about 
eleven years of age, if one had judged from her size and 
form ; but her features were pinched into unnatural maturity. 
Her attire was wretched, at its best estate; now, soaked 
by the rain, the dingy hood drooped over her eyes ; the 
dark cotton shawl retained not one of its original colors, 
and the muddy dress flapped and dripped about her ankles. 
Upon one foot she wore an old cloth gaiter, probably 
picked up from an ash-heap ; the remains of a more sorry 
slipper were tied around the other. 

‘‘I am so cold and wet, and my matches is all sp’ilt!” 
she answered in a dolorous tone, lifting the corner of a 
scrap of oil-cloth, which covered a basket, tucked for further 
security, under her shawl. 

“No wonder! What else could you expect, if you 
would go out to sell them on a day like this ? Go down 
into the area, there, and wait until I let you in.” 

The precaution was a wise one. No servant in that well- 
regulated household would have admitted so questionable a 
tigure as that which crept after their young mistress into 
the comfortable kitchen. The cook paused in the act of 
dissecting a chicken ; the butler — on carriage days, the 
footman — checked his flirtation with the plump and laugh- 
ing chambermaid, to stare at the wretched apparition. 
The scrutiny of the first named functionary was speedily 
diverted to the dirty trail left by the intruder upon th« 
!♦ 


10 


THE EMPT:' HE^lRT; OB, 


i!ju*pet. A scowl puckered her red face, and her wrathfiu 
ghince included both of the visitants as alike gnilty of this 
desecration of her premises. The housemaid rolled up her 
eyes and clasped her hands in dumb show of horror and 
oonteinpt, to her gallant, who replied with a shrug and a 
gi’in. lint not a word of remonstrance or inquiry was 
spoken. It was rather a habit of this young lady’s to have 
her own way whenever she could, and that she was bent 
upon doing this now was clear. 

“ Sit down !” she said, bringing up a chair to the fire. 

The storm-beaten wanderer obeyed, and eagerly held up 
her sodden feet to the red grate. 

“ Have you no better shoes than those 

“No, ma’am.” 

“ Humph ! Nor dress — nor shawl ?” 

“ No, ma’am.” 

“ Are you hungry ?” 

A ray shot from the swollen eyes. “ Yes, ma’am I” 

The lady disappeared in the pantry and presently re- 
turned with five or six slices^of bread and butter hastily cut 
and thickly spread, with cheese and cold meat between 
them. 

“ Eat !” She thrust them into the match-girl’s fingers. 
“Wait here, while I go and look for some clothes for you.” 

As may be supposed, the insulted oracle of kitchen mys- 
teries improved the time of the benefactress’s absence by a 
very plain expression of her sentiments towards beggars in 
general, and this one in particular ; which harangue w.is 
received with applause by her fellow* servants, and perfect 
equanimity by its object. She munched her sandwiches 
with greedy satisfaction, watching, the while, the little 
elouds of steam that ascended from her heated toes. She 
was, to all appearance, neither a sensitive nor intelligent 
thild, and had known too much of animal want and suffer 


HUSKS. 


11 


mg to allow trifles to spoil her enjoyment ol whatever 
pliysical comfort fell to her lot. Her mother at home 
could scold quite as virulently as the cook was now doing, 
and she was more afraid of her anger, because she beat 
while she berated her. She was convinced that she stood 
;u no such peril here, for her protectress was one in power. 

“ Have you eaten enough ?” said the clear, abrupt voice 
behind her, as she held two sandwiches in her fingers^ 
without ofiering to put them to her lips. 

“ Yes, ma’am. May I take ’em home?” 

Certainly, if you like. Stand up, and take off your 
shawl.” 

She put around the forlorn figure a thick cloak, rusty and 
obsolete in fashion, but which was a warm and ample 
covering for the child, extending to the hem of her dress. 
The damp elf-locks were hidden by a knitted hood ; and, foi 
the feet, there were stockings and shoes, and a pair ol 
India-rubbers to protect these last from the water. 

‘‘ KTow,” said the Huipane Society of One, when th< 
refitting w^as at an end, “ where do you live? Never mind i 
I don’t care to know that yet! Here is a small umbrella — 
a good one — which belongs to me. I have no other foj 
myself when I go out in bad weather. I mean to lend ii to 
you, to-day, upon the condition that you will bring it back 
to-morrow, or the first clear day. Will you do it ?” 

The promise was readily given. 

“ Here> an old thing, Miss Sarah !” ventured the butler, 
respectfully; producing a bulky, ragged cotton umbrella 
from a corner of the kitchen closet. ‘Ht’s risky — trusting 
such as that with your rice silk one.” 

“That will let in the rain, and is entiiely too large for 
her to carry. You understand, child ? You are to bring 
this safely back to me, the first time the sun shines. Cao 
vpu find your way to this house again ?” 


12 


THE EMP?y heart; or, 


** Ob yes, ma’am, easy ! Thank you, ma’am!’' 

She dropped an awkward courtesy, as Miss Sarah heW 
open the door fof her to pass, and went out into the rain— > 
warm, dry, and shielded against further damage from the 
storm. 

Unheeding the significant looks of the culinary cabinet^ 
Sarah Hunt turned away and ascended the stairs. She was 
a striking-looking girl, although her features, when in 
repose, could claim neither beauty of form nor expression. 
Her complexion was dark and pale, with a slight tir^e ol 
olive, and her hair a deep brown, lips whose compression 
was habitual, an aquiline nose, and eyes that changed from 
dreamy hazel to midnight blackness at the call of mind or 
feeling, gave marked character to her countenance. Her 
sententious style of address to the child she had just dis- 
missed was natural, and usual to her in ordinary conversa- 
tion, as was also the gravity, verging upon sombreness, which 
had not once during the interview relaxed into a smile. 

The family sitting-room, her destination at present, and 
to which we will take the liberty of preceding her, was 
furnished elegantly and substantially; and there, leaning 
back in lounging-chairs, were Miss Lucy Hunt, the eldest 
dav.ghter of the household, and her bosom friend, Miss 
Victoria West. Each held and wielded a crochet-needle, 
and had upon her lap a basket of many-hued balls of doubler 
or single zephyr worsted, or Shetland or Saxony wool, or 
whatever was the fashionable article for such pretty trifling 
at that date. Miss West had completed one-quarter of a 
fehawl for herself, white and scarlet; and her friend had 
made precisely the same progress in the arduous manufac- 
ture of one whose centre was white and its border blue. 

“ Y ours will be the prettiest,” remarked Lucy regret- 
fully. “ Blue never looks well in worsteds. Why, I can’t 
^ay, I’m sure. It is too bad that I can wear so few othei 


H tJS K 8. 


1 » 

eolo^ ! But I am such a fright in pink, or scarlet, or an.^^ 
shade of red !” 

** Aft if you could be a fright in any thmg !'’ retumei her 
oompanion, with seeming indignation. 

Lucy smiled, showing a set of faultless teeth that, to % 
Jtranger’a first glance, would have appeared by far 
attractive point in her physiognomy. If closer exa 
discovered that her skin was pearly in whiteness and 
parency, that her form was exquisite, with a sort of volup 
tuous grace; her hands worthy, in shape and hue, to 
become a sculptor’s model ; still, in the cold, unflattering 
light of this rainy afternoon, her want of color, her light 
gray eyes, her yellow hair, drawn straight back from the 
broad, low brow, precluded the idea that she could ever, 
with all the accessories of artificial glare, dress, and anima- 
tion, be more than a merely pretty girl. Miss West knew 
better, and Lucy realized the power of her own charms 
with full and complete complacency. Secure in this pleas- 
ant self-appreciation, she could afford to be careless as to 
her everyday looks and home-people. She saw and enjoyed 
the manifest surprise of those who, having seen her once in 
morning deshabille, beheld her afterwards in elaborate 
evening toilet. Then the abundant hair, waved in golden 
ripples about the classic head, the most artfully simple of 
tasteful ornaments — a camellia, a rosebud, or a pearl hairpin, 
its sole adornment; her eyes, large, full, and soft, were 
blue instead of gray, while the heat of the assen.bly-room, 
the excitement of the crowd, or the exultation of gratified 
vanity supplied the rounded cheek with rich bloom, and 
dewy Vermillion to the lips. But nature’s rarest gift to her 
was her voice, a mellow contralto, whose skilful modulations 
fttole refreshingly to the senses amid the sharp clash of 
strained and higher tones, the castanet-like jingle which 
most American belles ring unmercifully into the ears o/ 


14 


THE EMPTV HEAET; OK 


their auditors. Lucy Hunt was not a great talker,*’ still 
less was she piofound or brilliant when she did speak; yet 
she invariably conveyed the impression to the mind of a 
new acquaintance of a thoroughly cultivated woman, one 
whose acquirements were far beyond her modest exhibition 
of thought and sentiment. The most commonplace phrase 
came smoothly and roundly from her tongue, and he was 
censorious indeed who was willing to lose the pleasuie 
afforded by its musical utterance in weighing its meaning 
At school she had never been diligent, except in the stud} 
of music, and her pains-taking in this respect was rewarded 
by the reputation, justly earned, of being the finest vocalist 
in her circle of associates. In society she shone as a rising 
star of the first magnitude ; at home she was happy, cheer 
ful, and indolently amiable. Why should she be otherwise? 
From her babyhood she had been petted and admired by 
her family, and the world — her world — was as ready with 
its meed of the adulation which was her element. 

There were, besides the two sisters already introduced to 
the reader, three other children in the Hunt household — a 
couple of sturdy lads, twelve and fourteen years of age, and 
little Jeannie, a delicate child of six, whom Lucy caressed 
with pet titles and sugar-p’umbs of flattery, and Sarah 
served in secret and idolatrous fondness. This family it 
was Mrs. Hunt’s care and pride to rear and maintain, not 
only in comfort, but apparent luxury, upon the salary which 
her husband received as cashier of a prominent city bank, 
an income sufficient to support them in modest elegance, 
but which few besides Mrs. Hunt could have stretched to 
cover the expenses of their ostensible style of Imng. But 
this notable manager had learned economy in excellent 
schools ; primarly as a country girl, whose holiday finery 
was purcha&ed with the proceeds of her own butter-making 
and poitltry-yard ; then as the brisk, lively wife of the 


15 


jronng clerk, whose elender salary had, up to the time of 
his marriage, barely sufficed to pay for his own board and 
clothes, and whosp only vested capital was his pen, his good 
character, and j>erfect knowledge of book-keeping. But if 
Lis help-meet were a clever housewife, she was likewise am- 
hiti^us With the exception of the sum requisite for the 
j'early payment of the premium upon Mr. Hunt’s life-in 
sarance policy, their annual expenses devoured every cent 
of their receipts. Indeed, it was currently believed among 
outsiders that they had other resources than the cashier’s 
wages, and Mrs. Hunt indirectly encouraged the report 
that she held property in her own right. They lived “ as 
their neighbors did,” as “ everybody in their position in 
society was bound to do,” and “ everybody” else was too 
intent upon his personal affairs, too busy with his private 
train of plans and operations to examine closely the cogs, 
and levers, and boilers of the locomotive Hunt. If it went 
ahead, and kept upon the track assigned it, was always ‘‘ up 
to time,” and avoided unpleasant collisions, it was nobody’s 
business how the steam was gotten up. 

Every human plant of note has its parasite, and Miss 
Lucy Hunt was not without hers. There existed no reason 
in the outward circumstances of the two girls why Miss 
Hunt should not court Miss West, rather than Miss West 
toady Miss Hunt. In a business — that is, a pecuniary — 
point of view, the former appeared the more likely state of 
the case, inasmuch as Victoria’s father was a stock-broker 
of reputed wealth, and with a probable millionaireship in 
prospective, if his future good fortune equalled his past, 
rhile Mr. Hunt, as has been stated, depended entirely upon 
f certain and not an extravagant stipend. But the girl? 
L>eoame intimate at school, “came out” the same winter at 
the same party, where Lucy created a “ sensation,” and 
Victoria would have been overlooked but for th-? sentiraea 


i6 THE E M PT i' heart; OB, 

tsl connection between the debutantes. Since then, althoikgt 
the confidante would have scouted tht^ imputation of inter 
ested motives with virtuous indignatiuu of wounded aftec 
tion, she had nevertheless ‘‘made a good thing of it,” a« 
IT respected father would have phrased it, by playing 
inger-on, second fiddle, and trumpeter-general to the 
;elle. 

“ As if you could be a fright in any thing she had said 
naturally, and perhaps sincerely. 

Lucy’s smile was succeeded by a serious look. “ I am 
sadly tempted sometimes! Those lovely peach-blossom 
hats that you and Sarah wore this past winter were abso- 
lute trials to my sense of right ! And no longer ago than 
Mrs. Grossman’s party I was guilty of the sin of coveting 
the complexion that enabled Maria Johnston to wear that 
sweet rose-colored silk, with the lace skirt looped with 
rosebuds.” 

“ You envy Maria Johnston’s complexion? Why don 
you go further, and fall in love with her small eyes and pug 
nose ?” inquired Victoria, severely ironical. “ I have heard 
that people were never contented with their own gifts, but 
such a case of blindness as this has never before come under 
ray observation.” 

“ No, no ! I am not quite so humble with regard to my 
personal appearance as you would make out. Yet” — and 
the plaintive voice might have been the jnurmur of a griev- 
ing angel — “ I think that there are compensations in the lot 
of plain people that we know nothing about. They escape 
the censure and unkind remarks that uncharitable and 
envious women heap upon those who happen to be attrac- 
tive. Now, there is Sarah, who never cares a button about 
her looks, so long as her hair is smooth and her dress clean 
and whole. She hates parties, and is glad of any excuse to 
itafjr out of the parlor when gentlemen call. Give her 


HUSKS. 


It 


<K)ok8 and that • snuggery,’ as she calls it, of a room up^ 
stairs, and she is happier than if she were in t ne gayest 
company in the world. Who criticises hert Nobody is 
Jealous of her face, or manners, or conversation. And 
rculd not mind it if they were.” 

‘^She has a more independent nature than yours, mj 
iear. I, for one, am rejoiced that you two are unlike. 1 
could not endure to lose my darling friend, and somehow I 
never could understand Sarah ; never could get near to her, 
you know.” 

“ I do not wonder at that. It is just so with me, sisters 
though we are. However, Sarah means well, if her manner 
is blunt and sometimes cold.” 

The entrance of the person under discussion checked the 
conversation at this point, and both young ladies began to 
count their stitches aloud, to avoid the appearance of the 
foolish embarrassment that ever overtakes a brace of gossips 
at being thus interrupted. 

Sarah’s work lay on her stand near the window, where 
she had thrown it when the crying child attracted her 
notice, and she resumed it now. It was a dress for Jean- 
nie. It was a rare occurrence for the second sister to 
fashion any thing so pretty and gay for her own wear. 

Have you taken to fancy-work at last ?” asked Victoria, 
seeing that the unmade skirt was stamped with a rich, 
heavy pattern for embroidery. 

“No!” Sarah did not affect her sister’s friend, and did 
not trouble herself to disguise her feelings towards her. 

Lu<"v explained: “she is making it for Jeannio. She 
does every thing for that child.” 

“You are very sisterly and kind, I am sure,” Victoria 
twntinued, patronizingly. “ Y ou must quite despise Lucy 
and myself for thinking of and doing so much for ourselvoi, 
while you are such a pattern of self-denial,” 


IS 


theemptvbeart; or, 


A bijize shot up in Sarah’s eye ; then she sa.d, coldly : i 
am not self-denying. Have I ever found fault with you oi 
Lucy for doing as you like ?” 

Oh no, my dear ! But you take no interest in what W6 
enjoy. I dare say, now, you would think it a dull businesf^ 
work day after day for three or four weeks together 
.rocheting a shawl which may go out of fashion before on 
has a chance to sport it at a watering-place.” 

‘‘I certainly should!” The curl of the thin upper ]iy 
would have answered for her had she not spoken. 

“ And you hate the very sight of shell-work, and cone 
frames, and Grecian painting, and all such vanities ?” 

If I must speak the truth, I do — most heartily I” 

Victoria was not easily turned from her purpose. 

“ Come, Sarah ! Tell us what you would have us, poor 
trifling, silly things, do to kill the time.” 

“ If you must be a murderer, do it in your own way. I 
have nothing to say in the matter.” 

“ Do you mean that time never hangs upon your hands ? 
that you are never ennuyee — hlaseeT'* 

“ Speak English, and I will answer you !” 

‘‘ I want to know,” said the persevering tormentor, “ if 
the hum-drum books up-stairs, yo-ur paint box, and your 
easel are such good company that you are contented and 
happy always when you are with them ? if you never get 
cross with yourself and everybody else, and wonder what 
you were put into the world for, and why the world itself 
was made, and wish that you could sleep until doomsday. 
Oo you ever feel like this ?” 

Sarah lifted her eyes with a wondering, incredulous star 
It the flippant inquisitor. 

I hay)e felt thus, but I did not suppose that you had !” 

“ Oh! I have a ‘ blue’ turn now and then, but the disease 
H always more dangerous ^^ith girls of jrour sort — the read 


mg, thinking, strong* And the older yon 

grow, the worse you will get. I haven’t as much book 
knowledge as you have, but 1 k^ow more of the world we 
we live in. Take my advice and settle down to woman’ ^ 
right sphere. Drive away the vapors with beaux and fancy 
work now. By and by, a husband and an establishment 
will give you something else to think about.” 

Sarah would have replied, but Lucy broke in ^ ith s 
laugh, light and sweet. 

You two are always at cross-questions ^ Wliy can’t 
you be satisfied to let one another alone? Sarah and 1 
never quarrel, Vic. We agree to disagree. She gives me 
my way and I don’t meddle with her. If she likes the 
blues (they say some people enjoy them), where’s the harm 
of her having them? They never come near me. If I get 
stupid, I go to bed and sleep it off. Don’t you think I have 
done ten rows, since breakfxst ? V7hat a godsend a rainy 
day is, when one has a fascinati^ g piece of work on hand !” 

Too proud to seem to abandon the field, Sarah sat for 
half an hour longer, stitching steadily away at the compli 
cated tracery upon the ground to be worked ; then, as the 
dimmer daylight caused the others to draw near to the 
window' ^he pushed aside her table and nut bv her sew- 
ing. 

“ Don’t let us drive you away !” said Victoria’s mock- 
polite tones; and Lucy added, kindly, “We do not mean 
to disturb you, Sarah, dear !” 

“You do not disturb me!” was the reply to the latter 
The other had neither glance nor word. 

Up another flight she mounted to a room, much smaller 
than that she had left and far plainer in its appointments. 
The higher one went in Mrs. Hunt’s house, the less splendid 
every thing became. In the state spare chamber — a story 
below —nothing of comfort and luxury was wanting, fror^ 


THE EMPTY HEART; 0», 


2C 

the carved rose- wood jed stead, with the regal-looking 
caoopy overshadowing -ts pillows, down to the Bohemian 
and cut-glass scent bottles upon the marble of the dressing- 
cabinet, Sarah’s carpet was common ingrain, neither pretty 
nor new ; a cottage bedstead of painted wood ; bureau and 
wash-stand of the same material ; two chairs, and a small 
table were all the furniture her mother adjudged needful. 
To these the girl had added, from her pittance of pocket- 
money, a set of hanging booksheh es ; a portable desk, an 
easel, and two or three good engravings that adorned the 
walls. 

She locked the door after her, with a kind of angry satis- 
faction in her face, and going straight to the window, leaned 
upon the sash, and looked down into the flooded street. 
Her eyes were dry, but there was a heaving in her throat; 
a tightening of the muscles about the mouth that would 
have made most women weep for very relief. Sarah Hunt 
would have scorned the ease purchased by such weakness. 
She did not despise the sad loneliness that girt her around, 
any more than the captive warrior does his cell of iron or 
stone, but she held that it would be a cowardly succumbing 
to Fate, to wound herself by dashing against the grim 
walls, or bring out their sleeping echoes by womanish wail- 
ings. So, presently, her throat ached and throbbed no 
longer ; the rigid muscles compressed the lips no more than 
was their wont ; the hands loosened their vise-like grasf of 
^ne another — the brain was free to think. 

The rain fell still with a solemn stateliness that befitted 
ihe coming twilight. It was a silent storm for one so lioavy. 
The faint hum of the city ; the tinkle of the car-bell, three 
blocks oflT, arose to her window a]*ove its plasliing tall upon 
the pavement, and the trickle of the drops from sash to sill. 
A stream of light from the lamp-post at the corner flashed 
athwart the sidewalk, glittere*! ipon the swollen gutter 


AUSK8. 


91 

made gold and silver blocks of the paving-stones. As ii 
they had waited for this signal, other lights now shone oui 
from the windows across the way, and from time to time a 
broad, transient gleam from opening doors, told of the re 
turn of fathers brothers, husbands from their day’s employ 
ment. 

“ In happy homes he sees the light” 

What was there in the line that should make the watchei 
catch her breath in sudden pain, and lay her hand, with 
stifled moan, over her heart, as she repeated it aloud? 

Witness with me, ye maternal Hunts, who read this page 
— ^you, the careful and solicitous about many things — in 
nothing more ambitious than for the advancement and sue 
cess in life of your oifspring — add your testimony to mine 
that this girl had all that was desirable for one of her age 
and in her circumstances. A house as handsome as her 
neighbors, an education unsurpassed by any of her late 
school-fellows, a “position in society;” a reasonable share 
of good looks, which only required care and cultivation on 
her part, to become really distingue \ indulgent parents and 
peaceably inclined brothers and sisters; read the list, and 
solve me, if you can, the enigma of this perturbed spirit — 
this hungering and thirsting after contraband or unattainU' 
ble pleasures. 

“ Some girls will do so !^’ Mrs. Hunt assured her husband 
when he “thought that Sarah did not seem so happy as 
Lucy. He hoped nothing ailed the child. Perhaps the doo* 
tor had better drop in to see her. Could she be fretting for 
any thing ? or had her feelings been hurt ?” 

“ Bless your soul, Mr. H. ! there’s nothing the matter 
ir.th her. She always was kind o’ queer !” (Mrs. Hunt did 
not use her company grammar every day), and she's jest 
eighteen year old. That’s the whole of it! She’ll come 
round in good time, ’specially if Lucy should marry ofl 


22 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


pretty soon. When Sarah is ‘Miss Hunt,’ she’ll be as crazj 
for beaux an<i company, and as ready to jump at a prime 
offer as any of ’em. I know girls’ ways !” 

Nor am I prepared to say that Sarah, as she quitted her 
look-out at the high window, at the sound of the dinner 
tell, could have given a more satisfactoiy reason tor her 
discontent and want of spirits. 


CHAPTER II. 


Mrs. Hunt’s china, like her grammar, was two sorts, 
When her duty to society” or the necessity of circum- 
stances forced her to he hospitable, she ‘‘ did the thing” 
well. At a notice of moderate length, she could get up a 
handsome, if not a bountiful entertainment, to which no 
man need have been ashamed to seat his friends, and when 
the occasion warranted Ure display, she grudged not the 
“ other” china, the other silver, nor the other table-linen. 

She did, however, set her face, like a broad flint, against 
the irregularity of inviting chance visitors to partake of the 
family bread and salt. Intimate as Victoria West was mth 
Lucy, she met only a civil show of regretful acquiescence in 
her proposal to go home, as the dinner hour approached 
and Robbie or Richard Hunt was promptly ofiered to escort 
her to her abode upon the next block. If she remained to 
luncheon, as she would do occasionally, Lucy, in her hearing, 
begged her mother to excuse them from going down, and 
to send up two cups of tea, and a few sandwiches to the 
sitting-room. This slight repast was served by the butler 
upon a neat little tray, in a tete-d-tke service — a Christmas 
gift to Lucy, “from her ever-loving Victoria,” and sen- 
timentally dedicated to the use of the pair of adopted 
sisters. 

Therefore, Sarah was not surprised to find Victoria gone^ 
despite the storm, when she entered the dining-room. An 
immense crumb-cloth covered the carpet ; a row of shrouded 


Tni5 EM TTY heart: or, 


chairs, packed elbow to elbow, stood against the turthei 
end of the apartment, and a set of very ordinary ones wer€ 
around the table. The cloth was of whity-brown material 
and the dishes a motley collection of halt and maimed — foi 
ill Mrs. Hunt’s vigilance could not make servants miracu- 
lously careful. There was no propriety, however, according 
to her system of economy, in condemning a plate or cup as 
past service, because it had come off second best, to the ex 
tent of a crack, or nick, or an amputated handle in an en- 
counter with some other member of the crockery tribe, 
‘‘ While there is life there is hope,” was, in these cases, 
paraphrased by her to the effect that while a utensil would 
hold water, it was top good to be thrown away. 

It was not a sumptuous repast to which Sarah sat down 
after she had placed Jeannie in her high chair and tied the 
great gingham bib around her neck. On the contrary, it 
came near being a scant provision for the healthy appetites 
of seven people. Before Mr. Hunt, a mild, quiet little man, 
was a dish of stew, which was, in its peculiar line, a thing — 
not of beauty — ^but wonder. 

Only a few days since, as I stood near the stall of a 
poultry vender in market, a lady inquired for chickens. 

“ Yes, ma’am. Roasting size, ma’am ?” 

“ No ; I want them for a fricassee.” 

“Ah” — with a look of shrewd intelligence. “ 
ma’am, I take it, you don’t care to have ’em overly tender* 
Most ladies prefers the old ones for fricassee ; they come 
cheaper, and very often bile tender.” 

“Thank you,” was the amused rejoinder. “The dif 
feience in the price is no consideration where the safety cf 
our teeth is concerned.” 

Mrs. Hunt suffered not these scruples to hinler her 
negotiations with knowing poultry merchants. A cent less 
per pound would be three cents saved upon the chicken, 


HUSKS. 


and three cents would buy enough turnips for dinner. It 
is an ignorant housekeeper who needs to be informed that 
stewed chicken “goes further” than the same fowl made 
into any other savory combination. Mrs. Hunt’s stews were 
soncocted after a receipt of her own invention. Imprimis 
one chicken, weight varying from two and a Lalf to ihn-t 
pounds ; salt pork, a quarter of a pound ; gravy abundant , 
dumplings innumerable. It was all “stew and if Jean 
nie’s share was but a bare drumstick, swimming in gravy 
and buried in boiled dough, there was the chicken flavor 
through the portion. 

For classic antecedent the reader is referred to the fab^e 
of the rose-scented clay. 

To leave the principal dish, which justice to Mrs. Hunt’s 
genius would not permit me to pass with briefer mention, 
there were, besides, potatoes, served whole (mashed ones 
required butter and cream), turnips, and bread, and Mrs 
Hunt presided over a shallow platter of pork and beans. 
What was left of that dish would be warmed over to piece 
out bi^.'ukfast next morning. The children behaved well, 
and the most minute by-law of table etiquette was observed 
with a strictness that imparted an air of ceremonious re- 
straint to the meal. K Mrs. Hunt’s young people were not 
in time finished ladies and gentlemen, it was not her fault, 
nor was it for the lack of drilling. 

“ Do as I tell you, not as I do,” were her orders in these 
matters. Since Lucy had completed her education, the 
mother added : “ Look at your sister ; she is never 
awkward !” This was true : Lucy was born the fine lady 
R('finement of manner and grace of movement, an instinc- 
tive avoidance of whatever looked common or underbred 
were a part of her nature. Only the usage of years had 
accustomed her to her mother’s somewhat “fussy” ways. 

Had she met her in company as Mrs. Anybody else, sht 
2 


26 


THE EMPTY HEART; DR, 


would have yielded her the right of way with a ftelLg <^( 
amazement and amiable pity that one who meant so weU 
should so often overdo the thing she aimed to accomplish 
easily and gracefully. Following out her excellent system 
of training, the worthy dame demanded as diligent and 
alert w^aiting from her butler as if she were having a dinner 
party. The eggless rice pudding was brought on with a 
state that was absolutely ludicrous ; but the family were 
used to the unsubstantial show, and took it as a matter of 
course. 

After the meal was over Mrs. Hunt withdrew to the 
kitchen for a short conference with the cook and a sharp 
glance through the closets. It was impossible that the 
abstraction of six slices of bread from the baking of the 
preceding day, three thick pieces of cheese, and more than 
half of the cold meat she had decided would, in the form of 
hash, supply the otho piece of the breakfast at which the 
beans were to assist, should escape her notice. 

Mr. Hunt was reading the evening paper by the drop 
light in the sitting room, Lucy was busy with her shawl 
and Sarah told a simple tale in a low voice to Jeannie, as 
she leaned upon her lap, when the wife and mother entered, 
with something like a bluster. All present looked up, and 
each one remai'ked the cloud upon her brow. 

“ What is the matter, mother V' said Mr. Hunt, in a tone 
not free from alarm. 

“ I am worried ! That’s the wliole of it ! I am down- 
right vexed with you, Sarah, and surprised, too! What 
upon earth possessed you, child, to take that beggar into my 
kitchen to-day? After all I have told you and tried to 
learn you about these shameful impostors ! I declare I was 
beat out when I heard 't. And to throw away provisions 
and clothes upon such a brat !” 

Lucy opened her great eyes at her sister, and Mr. 


HITSrxB. 


31 


looked perplexedly towards his favorite, for at heart he waa 
partial to his second child. 

‘‘ I took the poor creature to the fire, mother, because she 
was wet and cold ; I fed her because she was hungry ; I 
^ave her some old, warm clothes of mine because hers were 
thin and soaked with rain.” 

‘‘Poor little girl!” murmured Jeannie, compassionately. 

Sarah’s hand closed instantly over the little fingers. The 
simple-hearted babe understood and sympathized with her 
motive and act better than did her wiser elders. 

“ Oh, I have no doubt she told a pitiful story, and shed 
enough tears to wet her through, if the rain had not done 
it already. If you listen to what these wretches say, and 
undertake to relieve their wants, you will soon have not a 
dress to your back nor a house over your head. Why 
didn’t you send her to some society for the relief of the 
poor f ’ 

“ I did not know where to find one, ma’am.” 

This plain truth, respectfully uttered, confounded Mrs. 
Hunt for a second. 

“ Mrs. James is one of the managers in a Benevolent As- 
sociation,” she said, recovering herself. “You had ought 
to have given your beggar her address.” 

“ Even if I had known that fact, mother, the girl would 
have been obliged to walk half a mile in the’ storm to find 
this one manager. What do you suppose Mrs. James would 
have done for her that was not in my power to perform I” 

“ She would have asked the child whereabouts she lived, 
and to-morrow she would have gone to hunt her up. If 
she found all as she had been told, which is not likely— dlies« 
creatures don’t give a right direction once in ten times — why, 
she would have brought the case before the board at their 
next meeting, and they wouM help them, if neither of her 
parents was a drinking character.'* 


28 


THE EMPTY HEART, OR, 


^ God help the poor !” ejaculated Sarah, energetical! j. 
“ God help the poor, if this is man’s style of relie^dng his 
starving brother ! Mother, do you think that hunger 
pinches any the less when the famished being is told that 
aoxt week or next month may bring him one good meal? 
W Ul the promise of a bushel of coal or a blanket, to b 
gi ven ten days hence, warm the limbs that are freezing to 
night ? Is present help for present need, then, always un- 
safe, imprudent, insane ?” 

“ That all sounds very fine, my dear.” Mrs. Hunt grew 
cool as her daughter waxed warm. “ But when you have 
seen as much of the world as I have, you will understand 
how necessary it is to be careful about believing all that we 
hear. Another thing you must not forget, and that is that 
we are not able to give freely, no matter how much disposed 
we may be to do so. Its pretty hard for a generous person 
to say ‘ No,’ but it can’t be helped People in our circum- 
stances must learn this lesson.” Mrs. Hunt sighed at 
thought of the curb put upon her benevolent desires by 
bitter necessity. “And after all, very few — you’ve no idea 
how few — of these pretended sufferers are really in want.” 

This preluded a recital of sundry barefiiced impositions 
and successful swindles practised upon herself and acquain- 
tances, to which Mr. Hunt subjoined certain of his personal 
experiences, all tending to establish the principle that in a 
vast majority of cases of seeming destitution the supplicant 
wa'^ an accomplished rogue, and the giver of alms the victim 
of his own soft heart and a villain’s wiles. Jeannie drank 
in every syllable, until her ideal beggar quite equalled the 
ogre who would have made a light supper off of Hop-o’-ray 
Thumb and brothers. 

“ You gave this match-girl no money, I hope ?” said Mm 
Hunt, at length. 

“ I did not, madam. I had none to give ner.” Impelleo 


HUSKS. 


by her straightforward sense of honesty that would not 
allow her to receive commendation for prudence she had 
not shown, she said, bravely : “ but I lent her my umbreJla 
upon her promise to return it to-morrow.” 

“ Well !” 

Mrs. Hunt dropped her hands in her lap, and staled it 
sj^eechless dismay at her daughter. Even her husband felt 
it his duty to express his disapprobation. 

That was very unwise, my daughter. You will nevei 
see it again.” 

“ I think dilferently, father.” 

‘‘You are too easily imposed upon, Sarah. There is not 
the least probability that your property will be returned. 
Was it a good umbrella ?” 

“ It was the one I always use.” 

“ Bxack silk, the best make, with a carved ivory handle — 
eo6t six dollars a month ago !” gasped Mrs. Hunt. “ I 
never heard of such a piece of shameful imprudence in all 
my born days I and I shouldn’t wonder if you never ones 
thought to ask her where she lived, that you might send a 
police officer after it, if the little thief didn’t bring it back 
to you?” 

“ I did think of it.” Sarah paused, then forced out the 
confession she foresaw would subject her to the charge of 
yet more ridiculous folly. “ I did think of it, but con- 
cluded to throw the girl upon her honor, not to suggest the 
theft to her by insinuating a doubt of her integrity.” 

Mr. Hunt was annoyed with and sorry for the culprit, yet 
he could not help smiling at this high-flown generosity oi 
confidence. “ You are certainly the most unsophisticated 
girl of your age I ever met with, my daughter. I shall not 
mind the loss of the umbrella if it prove to be the means 
of giving you a lesson in human nature. In this world, 
dear, it will not do to wear your heart upon your sleevA 


50 


THE EMPTl heart; OR, 


Never believe a pretty story until you have had the oppor 
tuiuty to ascertain for yourself whether it is true or false/ 
And with these titbits of worldly wisdom, the cashiei 
picked up his paper. 

“ Six dollars ! I declare I don’t know what to say to you. 
Sarah !” persisted the ruffled mother. “You cannot expect 
me tc buy you another umbrella this season. You must 
give up your walks in damp weather after this. I can’t say 
that I’m very sorry for that, though. I never did fancy 
your traipsing off two or three miles, rain or shine, like a 
sewing girl.” 

“ Very well, madam !” 

But, steadied by pride as was her voice, her heart sank at 
the possibility of resigning the exercise upon which she 
deemed that so much of her health, physical and mental, 
depended. These long, solitary walks were one of the un- 
American habits that earned for Sarah Hunt the reputation 
of eccentricity. They were usually taken immediately after 
breakfast, and few in the neighborhood wlio were abroad or 
happened to look out at that hour, were not familiar with 
the straight, proud figure, habited in its walking dress of 
gray and black, stout boots, and gray hat with black plume. 
It was a uniform selected by herself, and which her mother 
permitted her to assume, because it “ looked genteel,” and 
became the wearer. Especially did she enjoy these tramps 
when the threatening storm, in its early stages, kept others 
of her class and sex at home. The untamed spirit found a 
fierce pleasure in wrestling with the wind; the hail thal 
ushered in the snow-storm, as it beat in her face, called up 
lustre to the eye and warm color to the cheek. To a soul 
sickening of the glare and perfume of the artificial life tc 
which she was confined, the roughest and wildest aspects 
nature were a welcome change. 

I remember laughing heartily, as I doubt not you did 


HUSKS. 


31 


ilto, dear reader, if you saw it, at a cut which appeared 
•everal years ago in the Punch department of Harpers 
Magazine. A “ wee toddler,” perhaps four years old, with 
a most lack-a-daisical expression upon her chubby visage, 
accosts ber grandmother after this fashion : ‘‘I am tired of 
life, grandmamma ! The world is hollow, and my doll is 
stuffed with sawdust, and, if you please, ma’am, I should 
like to go to a nunnery !” 

Yet, that there are natures upon which the feeling of empti- 
ness and longing herein burlesqued seizes in mere babyhood 
is sadly true. And what wonder? From their cradles, 
hundreds of children, in our so-called better classes, are fed 
upon husks. A superficial education, in which aU that is 
not showy accomplishment is so dry and uninviting that the 
student has little disposition to seek further for the rich 
kernel, the strong meat of knowledge, is the preparatory 
course to a premature introduction into the world, to many 
the only phase of life they are permitted to see, a scene 
where all is flash and froth, empty bubbles of prizes, chased 
by men and women with empty heads, and oh, how often 
empty, aching hearts ! Outside principles, outside afiec- 
tions, outside smiles, and most pitable of all, outside piety I 
Penury of heart and stomach at home ; abroad a parade 
of reckless extravagance and ostentatious profession of fine 
feeling and liberal sentiments ! 

“Woe,” cried the Preacher, “to them that make haste 
to be rich!” If he had lived in our day, in what biting 
terms of reprobation and contempt would he have de 
claimed against the insane ambition of those who foregc 
the solid comforts of judicious expenditure of a moderate 
income would afford; spurn the holy quiet of domestic 
joys — neglect soul with heart culture — in their haste to seem 
rich, when Providence has seen that wealth is not to be 
deeired for them ! Out upon the disgusting, indecient rao# 


THB EMPTY HEAKT; OK, 


M 

and scramble. The worship of the golden calf is bad 
enough, but when this bestial idolatry rises to such a pitch 
of fanaticism, that in thousands of households, copies in 
pinchbeck and plated- ware are set up and seiwed, the spec 
tacle is too monstrous in its abomination ! This it is, that 
crowds our counting-rooms with bankrupts and our state 
prisons with defaulters ; that is fast turning our ball-room& 
and other places of fashionable rendezvous, into vile carica* 
tures of foreign courts, foreign manners, and foreign vices ; 
while the people we ape — our chosen models and exem- 
plars — hold their sides in inextinguishable laughter at the 
grave absurdity of our laborious imitation. It is no cause 
for marvel, that, in just retribution, there should be sent a 
panic-earthquake, every three years, to shake men to their 
senses. 

Such was the atmosphere which Sarah Hunt had 
always lived. In the code subscribed to by her mother, 
^and the many who lived and felt and panted and pushed as 
she did for social distinction, nothing was of real, absolute 
value except the hard cash. Gold and silver were facts* 
All things else were comparative in use and worth. The 
garment which, last winter, no lady felt dressed without, was 
an obsolete horror this season. The pattern of curtains and 
furniture that nearly drove the fortunate purchaser wild with 
delight, three years back, was now only fit for the auction 
room. In vain might the poor depleted husband plead for 
and extol their beauties. The fiat of fashion had gone forth; 
and his better half seasoned his food with lamentations, and 
moistened her pillow with tears until she carried her point. 
We have intimated that Sarah was a peculiar girl. Whence 
she derived her vigorous intellect ; her strong, original turn 
of thought ; her deep heart, was a puzzle to those who 
knew her parents. The mother was energetic, the father 
•ensiblii, but both were commonplace, and followed, likf 


HUSKS 




industrious puppets, iu w^e wake of others. They were 
pleased that Sarah brought home all the prizes offered at 
school, and both considered that she gained a right, by 
these victories, to pursue her studies at home, provided she 
iid not obtrude her singular views and tastes upon other 
people. Mrs. Hunt sighed, frequently and loudly, in her 
presence, that her genius had not been for shell, or bead, or 
worsted work, instead of for reading volumes, that did not 
even decorate the show book-case in the library. 

“ If you must have so many books, why don’t you pick 
out them with the tasty bindings ?” she had asked her 
daughter more than once. ‘‘ And I wish you would paint 
some bright, lively pictures, that would look handsome on 
the walls, instead of those queer men and women and 
cloudy things you have got up-stairs. I’d have ’em framed 
right away, and be real proud to tell who doiie them.’’ 

Sarah remained proof against such hints and temptations, 
and, shrinking more and more from the uncongenial whirl 
around her, she turned her eager, restless spirit into her 
secret, inner life, where, at times, it was flattered into con- 
tent by the idealities upon which it was fed ; at others, 
ramped and raved, like any other chained wild thing. The 
sweetest drop of pleasure she had tasted for many a day 
was the thrill she experienced when the forlorn object slie 
had rescued from the power of the storm stood before her, 
decently and comfortably clad. The rash confidence she 
had reposed in so suspicious a stranger was the outgoing 
of a heart too noble and true in every impulse to pause, for 
a moment, to speculate upon the chances of another’s good 
or bad faith. The great world of the confessedly poor was 
an unknown field to her — one she longed to explore. Her 
footsteps loitered more often near the entrance of some 
narrow, reeking street or alley, down which she had prom- 
ised her mother not to go, than on the spacious where 


94 


fHE EMPTY heart; OE, 


over-dressed women and foppish men halted at, and hung 
around bewitching shop-windows. She wondered how such 
throngs of breathing beings contrived to exist in those 
fetid, cramped quarters ; how they lived, spoke, acted, felt. 
The great tie of human brotherhood became daily more 
icnse, as she pondered these things in her heart. 

Oi this particular day, as she sat, silent and thoughtful^ 
at i.'5r needle, the chit-chat of her companions less heeded 
tnan the continual dropping of the rain without, the wall 
of the shivering wanderer caused a painful vibration 
through every nerve. The deed was done ! the experiment 
was tried. She was ashamed that an event so trivial held 
her eyes waking, far into the night. At least, she said to 
nerself, she would not be without a lesson of some kind ; 
would learn whether deceit and falsehood prevailed in the 
lowest, as well as the higher ranks of society. If, as she 
still strove to believe would be the case, the child returned 
the borrowed property, she would make use of her, as the 
means of entering upon a new sphere of research and ao 
tion. After so complete a refutation of her theories re- 
specting the utter corruption of all people, who had not 
enough to eat and to wear, her mother could not withhold 
her consent to her petition that she might become a lay- 
missionary — a present relief committee to a small portion 
of the suftering, toiling, ill-paid masses. She would then 
liave a work to do — something to call out energy and em 
gage feeling in healthy exercise — and soothed by the 
romantic vision, she fell asleep with a smile upon her lips. 

The morning dawned between breaking clouds, that soon 
left the sky clear and bright. All through the day Sarah 
watched for her visitor of the preceding day — watched with 
nervousness she could not wholly conceal, from morn tc 
night, for two, three days — for a w^eek. Then she V)oked 
no longer while at home; her question, at entering the 


H tr SK#, 


house, after a drive or walk, ceased to be, “ Has any thing 
been left for me?” So palpable was her disappointment 
that her father forbore to make any allusion to her loss, and 
Lucy, albeit she was somewhat obtuse to the finer points of 
her sister’s character, good-naturedly interposed to change 
the subject when her mother sought to improve the inci 
dent to her daughter’s edification and future profit. Mr. 
Hunt was right in supposing that the unsophisticated 
girl” had learned something. Whether she were happier or 
better for the lesson thus acquired was another thing. 

Once again Sarah had an opportunity for speech with her 
delinquent protegL Two months later she was passing 
through a by-street in a mean neighborhood, very far up 
town, in her morning ramble, when her progress was ar- 
rested, for an instant, by two boys, who ran out of an alley 
across the walk. One overtook the other just in front of 
the lady, and catching him by his ragged collar, threw him 
down. 

‘‘ That’s right ! beat him well ! I’ll help I” screeched a 
girl, rushing out of the court whence they had come. 

Grinning with delight, she flung herself upon the pros- 
trate form and commenced a vigorous assault, accompanied 
by language alike foul and profane. 

Sarah recognized her instantly, and while she paused in 
mingled amazement and anger, the child looked up and s&w 
her. In a twinkling she relinquished her grip of the boy’s 
hair- -jumped up and sped back into the dirty alley, with 
the b(\iid haste of guilty fear. 

Yes \ Mr. Hunt was a wise man, who knew the world, 
and trebly sage in her generation, was his spouse. If their 
Jaiighter Lad never acknowledged this before, she did now, 
in her di>fgust and dismay at this utter overthrow of her 
’reams of the virtuous simplicity to be found in lowly 

tnes, wilt re riches and fashions were things unknown. 


36 


THE EMPTY HEA.RT; OB5 


CHAPTER III. 

Sum:mer had come to the country with its bloom and iti 
beauty, its harvests and its holidays. In town, its fevei 
heat drew noisome smells from overcharged sewers, and 
the black, oily paste to which the shower that should have 
been refreshing had changed the dust of crowded thorough- 
fares. Cleaner pavements, in the higher portions of the city, 
burned through shoe-soles ; glass radiated heat to polished 
stone, and stone radiated, in its turn, to brick, that w^aited 
until the evening to throw off its surplus caloric in hot, suf- 
focating waves that made yet more oppressive the close 
nights. The gay procession of fashionable humming-birds 
. >ad commenced their migrations, steamboats and excursion 
. a aft multiplied at the wharves, and the iron steed put forth 
till his tremendous might to beer onward the long train of 
'Cif-exiled travellers. 

The Hunts, too, must leave town ; Lucy must, at all 

ents, have a full season, and a brilliant one, if possible, 
or it was her second summer, and much might depend 
ipon it. Her mother would accompany her, of course ; and 
equally of course her father could not; that is, he must re- 
turn after escorting them to Saratoga, and spend the re- 
mainder of the warm months at home. His business would 
not allow him to take an extended vacation. The boys were 
easily disposed of, being boarded every summer at :he farm- 
house of an earlv friend of Mr. Hunt’s, where they were 
acceptable inmatots, their clothes as well cared for as they 


HUSKS. 


37 


were at home, and their morals more diligently culi .ated 
The younger girls caused that excellent managei, tliei 
mother, more perplexity. This was not the first time she 
had repented her indiscretion in allowing Sarah to “ come 
out’* before her elder sister had “ gone off.” But “ Sarah 
was so tall and so womanly in her appearance that it looked 
pieer, and would set people to talking if 1 kept her back,’' 
f>he was accustomed to excuse her impolitic move to her 
friends. This summer she realized, as she had not done be- 
fore, the inconvenience of having two full-hedged young 
ladies upon the carpet at once. Lucy’s elegant and varied 
wardrobe and the certain expenses in prospect for her and 
her chaperon at Spa, seaside, and en route^ left a balance in 
band of the sum allotted for the season’s expenditure that 
was startling in its meagreness. Mrs. Hunt was a capital 
financier, a peerless economist, but the exigency taxed her 
resources to the utmost. 

One morning she arose with a lightened heart and a 
smoother brow. “I’ve settled it!” she exclaimed to her 
husband, shaking him from his matutinal doze. 

The “Eureka!” of the Syracusan mathematician was not 
more lofty in its exultation. Forthwith she unfolded to 
him her scheme. She was a native of New Jersey, “the 
Jarseys” she had heard it called in her father’s house —had 
probably thus denominated the gallant little State herself in 
her girlhood. In and around the pretty, quiet vihage of 
Shrewsbury there were still resident scores of her reladrts 
whose very names she had sedulously forgotten. One alone 
she could not, in conscience or in nature, dismiss to such 
oblivion. This was her elder and only sister, long marrivd 
20 a respectable and worthy farmer, and living within a 
mile of “the old place,” where botii sisters had drawtj toe 
first breath of life. Twice since Mrs. Hunt had lived in the 
eity had this kind friend been summoned on ac(‘,ount of t^e 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


5S 


dangerous illness of the former, and her presence and nurs. 
ing had restored peace, order, and health to the household. 
The earlier of these occasions was that of the second child’i 
birth, and in the softened mood of her convalescence JMrs 
Hunt had bestowed upon the babe her sister’s name — Sarah 
Benson — a homely appellative she had ofttimes regretted 
since. At distant and irregular intervals, one, two, thre^ 
years, Mr. or Mrs. Benson visited their connections in 

York but the intercourse grew more difficult and broken 
as time rolled on and the distance widened between the plain 
country folk and their rising relations. Then, again, death 
had been busy in the farmhouse ; coffin after coffin, of vary 
ing lengths, but all short, was lifted over the threshold and 
laid away in the village graveyard, until but one was left to 
the parents of the seven little ones that had been given to 
them, and to that one nature had denied the gifts of speech 
and hearing. Grief and the infirmities of approaching old 
age disinclined the worthy pair to stir from home, and their 
ambitious sister was too busy in building up a “ set” of her 
own, and paving the way for her daughters’ distinction, to 
hide her light for ever so short a period in so obscure a cor- 
ner as her former home. 

Aunt Sarah, however, could not forget her nurseling. 
Every few months there arrived some simple token of affec- 
tionate remembrance to the child” she had not seen since 
she wore short frocks and pinafores. The reception of a 
basket of fruit, thus despatched, was the suggestive power 
to Mrs. Hunt’s present plan. She had made up her mind, 
80 she informed her husband straightway, to write that very 
•iay* — yes ! that very forenoon, to ‘‘ Sister Benson,” and in- 
quire whether she would board Sarah and J eannie for a cou- 
ple of months. 

I don’t s’pose she will let me pay board for them, but 
she will be pleased to have ’em as long as tliey like to stay 


HUBKS. 


89 


It’s never been exactly convenient for me to let any of the 
children go there for so many years, and it’s so fur Dff. But 
dear me! sometimes I feel real bad about seeing sc little ol 
my only sister ! ‘ — a heavy sigh. “ And there’ll be the ex* 
penses of two saved, out and out, for they won^t need a great 
variety of clothes in that out-of-the-way place.” 

But how will the girls, Sarah and Jeaunie, fancy being 
sent off so ?” inquired Mr. Hunt. 

‘‘ Oh, as to that, it is late in the day for my children 
to dispute what I say shall be done ; and Sarah’s jest that 
odd that she’ll like this notion twenty times better than go- 
ing to Newport or Saratoga. I know her I As to Jeannie, 
she is satisfied to be with her sister anywhere. She is get- 
ting thin, too ; she looks real peaked, and there’s nothing in 
creation so good for ailing children as the salt-water bath. 
They have first-rate still- water bathing not a quarter of a 
mile from sister’s. It’s jest the thing, I tell you I The 
wonder is it never came into my head before.” 

Mr. Hunt had his sigh now. Somehow or other he was 
always down in the mouth when the family broke up for the 
summer,” his wife frequently complained, and his lack of 
sympathy now excited her just ire. 

“Upon my word, Mr. H. ! anybody would think^ that I 
was the poorest wife in the world to you to see and hear 
you whenever I talk to you of my plans and household af- 
fairs. You look as if you was about to be hanged, instead 
of feeling obliged to me for turning, and twisting, and con- 
triving, and studying, day and night, how to save your 
money, and spend what we must lay out to the best advan- 
tage. 1 can tell you what-— there’s few women would make 
your income go as far as I do.” 

“I know that, my dear. The question is” — . Mr. Hunt 
paused, cleared his throat, and strained his nerves for a 
mightj^ effort, an unprecedented exercise of moral courage 


40 


THE EMPTY HEABT; OR, 


— ‘‘ the question is, Betsy, whether our income is stretched 
in the right direction !” Mistaking the stare of petrified 
incredulity he received for fixed attention, the infatuated 
man went on ; ‘‘ This doubt is always forced upon me when 
we separate in July, some to go to one place, some to 
another, a broken, wandering family for months together 
I am growing old, and I love to have my children about me ; 
I begin to feel the want of a home. There is Johnson, in 

the Bank, gets five hundred less per annum than I do ; 

yet, after living quietly here a few years, he bought himself 
a snug cottage up the river, and has his family there in their 
own house, every thing handsome and comfortable about 
them. I have Deen in the harness for a long while ; I expect 
to die in it. I don’t mind work — hard work ! but it seems 
to me sometimes that we would all be better satisfied if we 
had more to show, or rather to hold, for our money ; if there 
were less of this straining after appearances, this constant 
study to make both ends meet.” 

And it has come to this !” — Mrs. Hunt sank into a chab 
and began to cry. “ This is my thanks for slaving and toil- 
ing for better than twenty years to get you and your children 
a stand in the world ! It isn’t for myself that I care. I can 
work my fingers to the bone, and live upon a crust ! I can 
6C3‘ape and save five dollars or so a month ! I can bury my- 
self in the country ! But your children ! those dear, sweet 
girls, that have had the best education money can buy, and 
that to-day visit such people as the Murrays, and Sander- 
sons, and Hoopers, and Baylors, and meet the Castors and 
Crinnalls at parties — nrillionaires, all of ’em, the cream of 
the upper crust ! I don’t deny that I ham been ambitious for 
them, and I did hope that you had something of the same 
spirit ; and now to think of your complaining, and moping, 
and groaning over the money you say I’ve been and wasted' 
Oh! oh! ohr 


HUSKS. 


41 


*^You misunderstood me, my dear; I merely questioned 
whether we were acting wisely in making so much display 
upon so little substance. We are not millionaires, whatever 
may be said of the girls’ visiting acquaintances, and I trera 
ble sometimes to think how all this false show may end.” 

Mr. Hunt’s borrowed courage had not evaporated en 
tirely. 

“ That’s distrusting Providence, Mr. H. ! It’s downright 
sinful, and what I shouldn’t have looked for from you. 1 
can tell you how it will end. If both of us live ten years 
longer, you will see your daughters riding in their own car 
riages, and leaders of the tongf^ and your sons among the 
first genti ^men of the city. If this does not turn out true, 
you needn’t ever trust my word again. I’ve set my head 
upon getting Lucy off my hands this summer, and well off ; 
and mark my words, Mr. H., it shall be done^ 

One part of her mother’s prophecy was fulfilled in Sarah’s 
manner of receiving the proposition so nearly affecting her 
comfort during the summer. Lucy wondered at the cheer- 
ful alacrity with which she consented to be hidden away 
in that horrid bore of a farmhouse,” and Jeannie cried as her 
elder sister supposed that they would eat in Aunt Sarah’s 
kitchen, along with the servant-men.” 

Lucy, be quiet !” interposed her mother. Your aunt 
is not a common poor person. Mr. Benson is a man of in- 
dependent means, quite rich for the country. They live 
very nicely, and I have no doubt but that your sisters will 
be hapfy there.” 

Sarah Lad drawn Jeannie to her, and was telling her ot the 
rides and walks they would take together, the ducks and 
chickens they would feed, and the merry plunges in the salt 
water that were to be daily luxuries. Ere the recital was 
concluded, the child was impatient for the hour of departure, 
and indignant when she heard that Aunt Sarah must be 


#3 


THE TtitPTr HEARTS OR, 


heard from before they could venture to present themsel 
bag and baggage, at her door. There was nothing fei| jed 
in Sarah’s satisfaction ; her preparations were made witfa far 
mure pleasure than if she were to accompany Lucy. The 
•eclusion that would have been slow* death to the latUr wae 
ftill of charms for the book-loving sister. Aunt Sarah would 
be kind ; the novel phases of human nature she would meet 
would amuse and interest her ; and, besides these, there was 
Jeannie to love and pet, and river, field, and grove for stud- 
ies and society. She panted for the country and liberty 
from the tyrannous shackles of city customs. 

Aunt Sarah wrote promptly and cordially, rejecting the 
offered compensation, and begging for her nieces’ company 
as long as they could content themselves in so retired a place. 
Simple-minded as she was, she knew enough to be sure that 
the belles and beaux of the neighborhood would be very un- 
suitable mates for her expected visitors. If her own girk 
had lived, she would have asked nothing higher for them it 
this world than to have them grow up respected, beloved 
and happy, among the acquaintances and friends of theii 
parents ; but “ Sister Betsy’s children had been raised so dif 
ferently !” she said to her husband. I don’t know what w* 
will do to amuse them.” 

“ They will find amusement — never fear,” was the farmer’i 
response. “ Let city folks alone for seeing wonders wher4 
those that have lived among them all their lives never founc 
any thing uncommon. They are welcome to the pony when 
ever riieyVe a mind to ride, and Jim or I will find time tc 
drive them around a’most every day ; n.nd what with riding, 
and boating, and bathing, I guess they can get rid of the 
time.” 

Before the day set for the coming of the guests there ap' 
peared upon the stage an unexpected and welcome ally to 
Aunt Sarah’s benevolent design of making her nieces’ soioum 


HUSK8. 


48 


agreeable. This personage we w^U let the good woman her 
self describe. 

“You needn’t trouble yourself to dx up for tea, aear," 
she said to Sarah, the afternoon of her arrival, as she pro 
pared to remove her travelling-dress. “There’s nobodj 
here besides husband, and me, and Charley, exce]»t hue 
band’s nephew, Philip Benson, from the South, lie comes 
North ’most every summer, and never goes back without 
paying us a visit. He’s been here three days now. But he 
is just as easy as an old shoe and sociable as can be, so you 
won’t mind ht* ” 

“Uncle Benson has relatives at the South, then?” said 
Sarah, seeing herself called upon to say something. 

“One brother — ^James. He went to Georgy when he 
wasn’t more than sixteen years old, and has lived there ever 
since. He married a rich wife, I believe,” — sinking her voice 
— “ and has made money fast, I’ve heard. Philip never says 
a word about their wealth, but his father owns a great plan- 
tation, for husband asked him how many acres they worked. 
Then the children — there are four of them — have had fine 
educations, and always spend money freely, Philip is not 
the sort to boast of any thing that belongs to him or his. 
He is a good-hearted boy. He was here the August my 
last daughter — my Betsy — died, and I shall never forget 
how kind and tender he was then. I can’t look at him with- 
out thinking how my Alick would have been just his age if 
he had lived. One was born on the fourth and the othe) 
the fifth of the same April.’’ 

Keeping up a decent show of interest in these family de- 
tails, Sarah divested Jeannie of her sacque and dress, and 
substituted a cool blue gingham and a muslin apron. Then, 
as the child was wild to run out of doors, she sufiered hei 
to go, charging her not to pass the boundary of the yard 
^oe. Aunt Sarah was dressed in a second mourning in 


4i 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


laine; with a very plain cap, and while the heat obliged 
Sarah to lay aside the thick and dusty garment sne had 
worn all day, she had too much tact to offer a strong con 
trast in her own attire to her unpretending surroundings 
A neat sprigged lawn, modest and inexpensive, was not out 
of place among the old-fashioned furniture of her chanil>ei 
nor in the “ best room,” to which they presently descended. 

Aunt Sarah ushered her into the apartment with some 
stiffness of ceremony. In truth, she was not herself there 
often, or long enough to feel quite at ease, her property 
though it was. Alleging the necessity of “seeing to the 
tea,” she bade her niece “make herself at home,” threw 
open a blind that she “ might see the river,” and left her. 

First, Sarah looked around the room. It was large and 
square, and had four windows, two in front and two in the 
rear. The floor w^as covered by a well-saved carpet, of a 
pattern so antique that it was in itself a curiosity; heavy 
tables of a mahogany dark with age ; upright chairs, with 
slippery leathern seats ; a ponderous sofa, covered with hair- 
cloth ; small mirrors, with twisted frames, between the win- 
dows ; two black profiles, of life-size, over the mantel, and 
in the fire place a jar of asparagus boughs, were appoint- 
ments that might have repelled the lo«ker-on, but for the 
scrupulous, shining cleanliness of every article. It was a 
scene so strange to Sarah that she could not but smile as 
she withdrew her eyes and turned to the landscape com- 
manded by her window. 

The sight changed the gleam of good-humored amuse 
nient to one of more heartfelt pleasure. Beyond the grassv 
walks and flower-borders of the garden behind the house lay 
green meadows, sloping down to the river, broad and smooth 
at this point, so placid now that it mirrored every rope and 
seam of the sails resting quietly upon its surface, and the 
white cottages along the banks, while the banks themselves. 


HUBX8. 


46 


\ ith their tufts and crowns of foliage, drooping willows and 
lofty elms, found a faithful yet a beautified counterpart in 
the stream. The reflected blush of the crimson west upon 
‘is bosom was shot with flickers of golden light, and faded 
in the distance into the blue-gray twilight. The air seemed 
to grow more deliciously cool as the gazer thought of the 
hot, pent-up city, and the beds of thyme and lavender added 
their evening incense. 

The hum of cheerful voices joined pleasantly with the 
soothing influences of the hour, and, changing her position 
slightly, Sarah beheld the speakers. Upon a turfy mound, 
at the foot of an apple-tree, sat Jeannie beside a gentleman, 
whose hands she watched with pleased interest, as did also 
a boy of fifteen or thereabouts, who knelt on the grass 
before them. Sarah divined at once that this was her aunt’s 
deaf and dumb son. The gentleman was apparently inter 
preting to Jeannie all that passed between himself and the 
lad, and her gleeful laugh showed it to be a lively dia- 
logue. Could this be Mr. Benson’s nephew, the beardles? 
youth Sarah had pictured him to herself from Aunt Sarah’? 
description? He could not have been less than six-and* 
twenty, had dark hair and a close, curling beard, an intelli- 
gent, handsome face, and notwithstanding his loose summer 
sack and lounging attitude, one discerned plainly traces of 
uncommon grace and strength in his form, 

“What is he, I wonder? A gallant professional beau, 
who will entangle me in my speech, and be an inevitable 
appendage in the excursions ? I flattered myself I would 
be safe from all such drawbacks,” thought Sarah, in genuine 
vexation, as she obeyed her aunt’s summons to tea. 

Perhaps Mr. Benson read as much in her countenance, for, 
beyond a few polite, very unremarkable observations, ad* 
dressed to her when his hosts made it necessary for him to 
do so, he paid her no visible attention during the whole 


46 


•THE EMtTV OR, 


evening. The next day he set off, the minute breakfast wai 
over, with his gun and game-bag, and was gone until sunset. 

Sarah sat at her chamber window as he came up to the 
)ack door ; and, screened by the vine trained over the sash, 
he watched him as he tossed his game-bag to Charley and 
shook hands with Jeannie, who ran up to him with the fa 
niiliarity of an old acquaintance. 

“ What luck ?” questioned his uncle. 

** Nothing to boast of, sir ; yet enough to repay me for my 
tramp. I have been down to the shore.” 

“ Philip Benson ! Well, you beat every thing ! I suppose 
you have walked as much as ten miles in all !” exclaimed 
Aunt Sarah, with a sort of reproachful admiration. 

“ I dare say, madam, and am none the worse for it to- 
night. I am getting used to your sand, uncle ; it used to 
tire me, I confess.” 

He disappeared into the kitchen, probably to perform the 
ablutions needful after his day’s walk and work, for it was 
several minutes before he returned. Charley had carried 
the game-bag to the mound under the tree, and was exhibit- 
ing its contents — mostly snipe and red- winged black birds— 
to his little cousin. 

“It is refreshing to see something in the shape of man 
that is neither an effeminate dandy nor a business machine,^ 
soliloquized Sarah. “ Ten miles on foot ! How I would like 
to set that task for certain of our Broadway exquisites !” 

“ She isn’t a bit like a city girl !” Aunt Sarah was saying, 
as she followed Philip into the outer air. 

“I am glad to hear that she is likely to be a nice compai> 
ion for you, madam. I thought, from her appearance, that 
you would suit each other,” was the reply, certainly respect- 
ful enough, but whose lurking accent of dry indifference sent 
the blood to Sarah’s face. 

Hastily withdrawing from the open window, beyond 


HUSKS. 


ifl 

the reajn of the voices that discussed her merits, she waited 
to recover equanimity before going down-stairs. In vaiL 
she chided herself for her sudden neat. Mortified she was, 
%nd eren more ashamed of herself than angry with the cooj 
young man who had pronounced her to be a fitting associate 
or her excellent but unpolished aunt. While his every look 
4nd intonation bespoke the educated gentleman, a being as 
different in mental as in physical muscle from the fops w ho 
formed her sister’s train, bad he weighed her against the re 
fined woman of his own class and clime, and adjudged hei 
this place ? At heart she felt the injustice, and, stimulated 
by the sting, arose the resolve that he should learn and con- 
fess his error. Not tamely or willingly would she accept an 
ignoble station at the hands of one whom she inwardly rec- 
ognized as capable of a true valuation of what she esteemed 
worthy. 

She looked haughty, not humbled^ when she took her sea; 
opposite her critic at the tea-table. “ A nice companion,” 
she was saying over to herself. The very phrase, borrowed, 
as it was, from Aunt Sarah’s vocabulaiy, seemed to her 
seasoned with contempt. She kept down fire and scom, 
however, when Mr. Benson accosted her with the tritest of 
remarks upon the probable heat of the day in town as con- 
trasted with the invigorating breeze, with its faint, delicious 
sea flavor, that rustled the grapevines and fluttered the 
white curtains at the dining-room door and windows. Her 
answer was not exactly gracious, but it advanced the one 
tempting step beyond a mere reply. 

Thus was the .ce broken, and for the rest of the meal, 
Aunt Sarah and “Uncle Nathan” — as he requested his 
nieces to style him — had respite from the duty of active en- 
tertainment, so far as conversation went. To Sarah’s sur- 
prise, Mr. Benson talked to her almost as he would have 
done to another man. He spoke of notable persoas, places 


aPHE EMPTY H :ABT; 011^ 


and books — things of which she iiad heard <ind ftr’id— mtl^ 
out affectation of reserve or a shade of pretension, ani tc 
her rejoinders — brief and constrained for awhile — then, as 
she Forgot herself in her subject, [lertinent, earnest, salient, 
gave more than courteous heed. It was the unaflected 
er(‘st of an inquirer; the entire attention of one who fel 
he ’’eceived more than he gave. 

V par u’d for the night with a bow and a smile that 
V 'ith each a mute acknowledgment of pleasure derived 
o in the coin[)anionship of the other; and if neiUic’* yioked 
Forward to the meeting of the morrow as a renewal of oon- 
geniiti intercourse, botii carried to then ^'^st the of 

iou ag'-eeaule surprise m t^'' ''vents of the eveniwir^ 


m 0 8KB. 


CHAPTER IV. 

A WEEK hac’ passed since the arrival of the city nieces ai 
he farmhouse. An early tea, one of Aunt Sarah’s generous 
appetizing repasts was over; and through the garden, 
:>ut at the gate that terminated the middle walk, and across 
the strip of meadow-land, danced Charley and Jeannie, fol 
lowed at a more sedate pace by Philip Benson and SaraL 
Seven days’ rustication had wrought a marked change in 
the town-bred girl. There was a lighter bound in her step^ 
ind in her cheek a clear, pink glow, while her eyes looked 
softly, yet brightly, from out the shadow of her gypsy hat, 
a look of half surprise, half confidence in her companion’s 
face. 

“ One week ago,” he was saying, ‘‘ w firmly I inade up 
my mind that you and I could never be any thing but 
stnuigers to each other ! How 1 disliked you for coming 
dowm here to interfere with my liberty and leisure 1” 

“ But even then you thought that I would prove a ‘ nice 
companion fcr Aunt Sarah — ’ perceived my suitableness to 
her scciety,” was the demure reply. 

“ Who told you that I said so ?” 

“Not Avmt Saralr herself, although she considered it 
honest prais^j. I overheard it accidentally from my window 
and I can assure you properly appreciated the compliment, 
irhic^h, by the way, was more in the tone than the 
w^ords.” 

“And you were thereby piqued to a dhOferent style ol 


50 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 

behavior. Bravo! did ever another seed so wortnlesr 
Ixing forth so rich a harvest? I am glad I said it! Here 
is the boat.” 

It was a pretty little affair — Charley’s property and care, 
and he was already in his seat at the bow, oar in hand. 
Philip helped Sarah in, placed Jeannie beside her, and sta 
tioning himself upon the middle bench took up a second pah 
of oars. A noiseless dip of the four, and the craft gilded 
out int<* the stream, then up against the tide, the water rip 
ling into a foamy wake on either side of the sharp bow. A 
row was now the regular sequel to the day’s enjoyments, 
and to Jeannie, at least, the climax of its pleasures. 

Pull that way, please, Mr. Benson !” she cried. ‘‘There 
tight through that beautiful red water !” 

A skilful sweep brought them to the spot designated, but 
he crimson deserted the wave as they neared it, and left 
.nil gray in its stead. 

“ It is too bad !” complained the child, pointing back to 
the track of their boat, quivering amidst the fickle radiance 
she had thought to reach by this change of course. “ It ia 
behind us and before us — everywhere but where we are !” 

“ Is there a moral in that ?” questioned Philip, smiling at 
Sarah. 

“ Pei'baps so.” 

A fortnight before, how assured would have been her 
reply! How gloomy her recognition of the analogy! 
Changed as was her mood, a shade fell over her counren- 
rmce. Was it of apprehension, and did Philip thus intCwpret 
it? 

“ I could not love life and this fair world as I do, if I 
conceded this to be universally true,” he said. “Thai there 
< omes, sometimes, a glory to the present, beside which the 
hues of past and future fade and are forgotten, I must and 
5^'iii believe. Such, it seems to me, must be the raptin*e ai 


HTTSK8. 


51 


reciprocal and acknos^dedged affection; the joy of rexinion 
after long separation from the beloved one; the bliss ol 
reconciliation after estrangement. Have you ever thought 
how much happier we would be if we were to live only in 
the Now we have, and never strain our eyes with search 
ings for the lights and shades of what may be biffore us, or 
with ‘ mournful looking’ after what is gone ?” 

“Yet is this possible?” asked Sarah, earnestly. “ Dooft 
not the very constitution of our natures forbid it ? To me 
that would be a miserably tame, dead level existence over 
w hich Hope sheds no enchanting illusions ; like this river, 
as we saw it three days ago, cold and sombre as the rain- 
clouds that hung above it. Oh, no ! give me any thing but 
the chill, neutral tint of such a life as thousands are content 
to lead — people who expect nothing, fear nothing — I hfd 
almost said, fed nothing !” 

“ That is because every principle of your being is at war 
with common-places. Tell me frankly. Miss Sarah, did you 
ever meet another woman who bed as much character j\8 
yourself?” 

“ I do not know that I understand the full bearing oi 
your question.” She leaned on the side of the boat, her 
hand playing in the water, her lips working in an irresolute 
timidity that was oddly at variance with their habitual firm- 
ness. 

“ I am aware,” she began, slowly and gravely, “ that I 
express myself too strongly at times; that I am more ab 
rupt in language and action than most other girls. I have 
always been told so ; but it is natural to me. My charac- 
ter has many roagh and sharp edges that need softening 
and rounding — ” 

“ In order to render you one of the pretty automatons, 
the well draped, tboi-ouGrlily-oiled pieces of hnniau jdock' 
work that decorates men’s homes — falsely so called — in the«&? 


52 


THE EMPTY HEART; OK, 


days of giOSS and humbug!” interrupted Philip with ener 
gy. I am sick to death of the dollish ‘ sw^eet creatures 
every boarding-school turns out by the score. J understand 
ill the wires that work the dear {)iippets — flatter myself that 
1 can put them through their paces (excuse the slang!) in 
diort a time as any other man of my age in the country 
The delightful divinities ! A little music, and a little lesj 
French; a skimming of the arts and sciences; and it is a 
rare thing to meet one who can tell an art from a science 
ten days after she has graduated — a stock of pet phrases — 
all hyperbolical, consequently unmeaning — a glib utterance 
of the same ; a steady devotion to balls, beau-catching, 
gossip, and fancy-work ; voild the modern fine lady — the 
stuff vre are expected to make wdves of! Wives! save the 
mark! I never think of the possibility of being thus en 
snared without an involuntary repetition of a portion of 
the Litany — ‘ From all such, etc., etc. !’ ” 

He plied his oars with renewed activity for a moment, 
then suspended them to continue, in a softer tone : “ And 
this is the representative woman of your Utopia, Miss 
Sarah ?” 

Did I intimate, much less assert, such a heresy ?” re- 
sponded she, laughing. “ But there is a golden mean some- 
where — a union of gentleness and energy ; of domestic and 
literary taste ; of independence and submission. I have 
seen such in my day dreams. She is my ideal.” 

“Which you will one day embody. No reproachful 
looks ! This is the sincerity of a friend. I have promised 
never to flatter you again, and do not violate the phidge in 
speaking thus. From my boyhood, I have made human 
nature my study, and it would be hard to convince me that 
1 err in this case.” 

“ You do ! indeed you do !” exclaimed Sarah, with a lOok 
of real pain. “ I lack the first charaoteristio of the portrait 


HUSKS* 


58 


I nave drawn. I am not gentle ! I ne^^r was. I fear that 
I never will be !” 

“Let us hear a competent witness on that head. Jean 
nie !” to the child, who was busy spelling on her fingers t< 
Charley; his nods and smiles to her, from the far end of 
the boat, being more intelligible to her than wore her at- 
tempts to signal her meaning to him. “ Jeannie !” repeated ; 
Philip, as he caught her eye. “ Come, and whisper in ray 
ear which of your sisters you love the best. Maybe I won’t 
tell tales out of school to the one you care least for.” 

“ I don’t care who knows !” said the saucy, but affection- 
ate child. “ Sis’ Lucy is the prettiest, and she never scolds 
me either; but she doesn’t make my clothes, and tell me 
nice stories, and help me with my lessons, and all that, you 
know. She isn’t my dear, best sister !” And, springing up 
suddenly, the threw her arms around Sarah’s neck, with a 
kiss that answered the question with emphasis. 

Sarah’s lip trembled. The share of affection she had 
hitherto dared to claim as her own had barely sufficed to 
keep her heart from starving outright. She had often 
dreamed of fulness of love as a stay and comfort, as solace 
and nutriment in a world whose wrong side was ever turned 
to her. Now there dawned upon her the sweetness and 
beauty of a new revelation, the bliss of loving and being 
beloved. Over life floated a warm, purple tinge, like the 
sunset light upon the river. For the first time within the 
reach of her memory her heart rested I 

In the smile whose overflowing gave a tender lovelines 
to her features, Philip saw the effect he had wished and 
anticipated, and, motioning to Charley to let the boat drift 
with the current, he picked up the guitar, that by Sarah 
request was always taken along in these excursions. 

“The dew is on the blossom, 

And the young moon on the sea; 


H 


THE EMPTY HEART; OE, 


It is the twilight hour — 

The hour for you and me ; 

The time when memory linger* 

Across life’s dreary track, 

When the past floats up before us, 

And the lost comes stealing back.” 

It was a love song, inimitable in its purity and tendernes*, 
with just the touch of sadness that insured its passage to 
the heart. Sarah’s smile was softer, but it was a smile still, 
as the melody arose on the quiet air. When the ballad waa 
concluded, she only said ; Another, please !” 

Philip sang more than well. Without extraordinary 
power, his voice had a rich and flexible quality of tone and 
a delicacy of expression that never failed to fascinate. To 
the rapt and listening girl it seemed as if time could bring 
no more delicious fate than thus to glide on ever upon this 
empurpled, enchanted stream, the summer heavens above 
her, and, thrilling ear and soul, the witching lullaby that 
rocked her spirit to dreams of the youth she had never had, 
the love for which she had longed with all the wild intensi- 
ty, the fervent yearning, her deep heart could feel. 

Still they floated on with the receding tide, its low wash- 
ing against the sides of their boat filling up the pauses of the 
music. The burning red and gold of the sky cooled into 
the mellower tints of twilight, and the pale curve of the 
young moon shone with increasing lustre. Jeannie fell 
asleep, her head upon her sister’s lap ; the dumb boy sat 
motionless as stone, his dark eyes fixed on the moon ; there 
seemed some spell upon the little party. Boat after boat 
passed them, almost noiselessly, for far into the clear eveiring 
went the tones of the singer’s voice, and the dullest hearer 
could not withhold the tribute of admiring silence until be 
yond its reach. 

And Sarah, nappy in the strange, restful languor that 
lockef her senses to all except the blessed o esent, dreame# 


HtTSKS. 


55 


oil, the music but a part of her ideal world, this new and 
beautiful life. Into it stole presently a theme of sadneBS, a 
strain of grief, a heart-cry, that, ere she was aware, ^ruog 
her own lieart-strings with anguish. 

“ The long, long, weary day 
Is passed in tears away, 

And still at evening 1 am weeping. 

When from my window’s height 
I look out on the night, 

I am still weeping, 

My lone watch keeping. 

“ When I, his truth to prove. 

Would trifle with my love. 

He’d say, * For me thou wilt be weeping, 

When, at some future day, 

1 shall be far away ] 

Thou wilt be weeping, 

Thy lone watch keeping.’ 

** Alas 1 if land or sea 
Had parted him from me, 

I would not these sad tears be weeping; 

But hope he’d come once more, 

And love me as before; 

And say, ^ Cease weeping. 

Thy lone watch keeping.’ 

“ But he is dead and gone, 

Whose heart was mine alone, 

And now for him I’m sadly weeping. 

His face I ne’er shall see, 

And naught is left to me 
Bui bitter weeping, 

lone watch keeping.” 

If ever a pierced and utterly hopeless soui poured fortk 
as plaint in musical measure, it was in the wondrously siitt' 
pie and unspeakably plaintive air to which these words are 


tHE EMPTY heart; OE, 


5t 

set. There breathes in it a spirit wail so mournfully sincere 
that one recognizes its sob in the very chords of the accom 
paniment. The mere murmur of the melody, were no words 
ttered, tells the story of grieving desolation. 

Sarah did not move or speak, yet upon her enchanted 
ground a cloud had fallen. She saw the high casement and 
its tearful gazer into the night, a night not of music, and 
moonlight, and love, but chill, and wet, and dreary. Rain 
dripped from eaves and trees ; stone steps and pavements 
caught a ghastly gleam from street lamps ; save that sorrow- 
ful watcher, there was no living creature abroad or awake. 
She grew cold and sick with looking into those despairing 
eyes ; the gloom, the loneliness, the woe of that vigil became 
her own, and her heart sank swooning beneath the burden. 

As she ceased the song, Philip looked up for some com- 
ment or request. To his sui-prise, she only clasped her 
hands in a gesture that might have been either relief from 
or abandonment to woe, and bowed her head upon them. 
Puzzled, yet flattered by her emotion, he refrained from in- 
terrupting her ; and, resuming his oars, lent the impetus of 
their stroke to that of the tide. Nothing was said until the 
keel grated upon the shelly beach opposite the farmhouse. 
Then, as Philip stooped to lift the unconscious Jeannie, he 
imagined that he discerned the gleam of the sinking moon 
upon Sarah’s dripping eyelashes. 

The fancy pursued him after he had gone up to his room. 
Seated at his window, looking out upon the now starlit sky, 
he smoked more than one cigar before his musing flt was 
ended. It was not the love-reverie of a smitten boy. lie 
believed that he had passed that stage of sentimentalism ten 
years before. That Southerner of the male gender who has 
not been consumed by the fires and arisen as good as new 
from the ashes of half a dozen never-dying passions before 
be is eighteen, who has not ofifered the heart and handi 


HUSKS. 


61 


which as often as otherwise constitute his 'hiefdst earthly 
possessions, to some elect fair one by the time he is one-and* 
twenty, is voted slow” or invulnerable. If these suscepti- 
ble sons of a fervid clime did not take to love-making as 
naturally as does a duckling to the pond by the time the 
eggshell is fairly off of its head, they would certainly be ini 
dated while in the callow state by the rules and customs of 
society. Courtship is at first a pastime, then an art, then 
when the earnestness of a real attachment takes hold of their 
impassioned natures, it is the one all-absorbing, eager pur- 
suit of existence, until rewarded by the acquisition of its ob- 
ject or thwarted by the decided refusal of the hard-hearted 
Dulcinea. 

This state of things, this code of Cupid, every Southern 
girl understands, and shapes her conduct accordingly. 
Sportively, yet warily, she plays around the hook, and he is 
a very fortunate angler who does not in the moment of fan- 
cied success discover that she has carried off the bait as a 
trophy upon which to feed her vanity, and left him to be 
the laughing-stock of the curious spectators of this double 
game. She is imperturbable to meaning equivoques^ receives 
pretty speeches and tender glances at their current value, 
and not until the suit becomes close and ardent, the attach- 
ment palpable to every one else, and is confessed in so many 
words, does she allow herself to be persuaded that her 
adorer is ‘‘in earnest,” and really desires to awaken a sym- 
pathetic emotion in her bosom. 

Philip Benson was no wanton trifler with Woman’s feel- 
ings. On the contrary, he had gained the reputation in his 
circle of an invincible, indifferent looker-on of the pseudo 
and real combats, in Love’s name, that were continually 
transpiring around him. Chivalrous in tone, gallant in ac- 
tion, as he was, the girls feared while they liked and admired 
him. They called him critical, fastidious, cold ; and mock 
a* 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


§8 

ingly wondered why he persisted in going into company 
that, judging the future by the past, was so unlikely to fiir 
nish him with the consort he must be seeking. In reality, 
he was what he had avowed himself to Sarah — a student of 
human nature ; an amateur in this species of social research 
--than which no other so frequently results in the complete 
deception of the inquirer. Certainly no other is so apt to 
find its culmination of devotion in a cold-blooded dissection 
of motive, morals, and sentiment ; an unprincipled, reckless 
application of trial and test to the hearts and lives of its vie 
tims and final infidelity in all human good, except what is 
concentrated in the inspector’s individual, personal self. 
Grown dainty amid the abundant supply of ordinary mate- 
rial, he comes at length to disdain common subjects.” 
Still less would he touch one already loathsome in the popu 
lar estimation, through excess of known and actual crime. 
But a character fresh and noble from the Creator’s hand ; a 
soul that dares to think and feel according to its innate sense 
of right ; an intdlect unhackneyed, not vitiated by worldly 
policy or the dogmas of the schools ; a heart, tender and 
delicate — yet passionate in love or abhorrence ; what an op- • 
portunity is here presented for the scalpel, the detective acid, 
the crucible, the microscope ! It is not in fallible mortality 
to resist the temptation, and even professors of this en- 
nobling pursuit, whose motto is, ‘‘ The proper study of man- 
kind is Man,” are, as they allow wdth shame and confusion 
of face, themselves mortal. Of all the dignified humbugs ol 
the solemn farce of life, deliver me from that creature self- 
styled ‘‘ a student and judge of character!” 

In Sarah Hunt, Philip discovered, to his surprise, a rare 
specimen a volume, each leaf of which revealed new 
matter of interest. The attentions he had considered him- 
self bound to pay her, in order to avoid wounding their kind 
Hosts, w ere soon rendered from a widely different motive 


flUSKS* 


69 

It did not occur to him that he was transcending the limiti 
of merely friendly courtesy, as prescribed by the etiquette 
of the region in which he was now a sojourner. He was by 
no means deficient in appreciation of his personal gifts , rated 
his powers of pleasing quite as highly as did his warmest 
admirers, although he had the common sense and tact t<s 
conceal this ; but he would have repelled, as an aspersion 
upon his honor, the oliarge that he was endeavoring to win 
this young girl’s affections, his heart being as yet un- 
touched. 

“ Was it then altogether whole ?” he asked himself to-night, 
with a coolness that should have been an immediate reply to 
the suggestion. 

Side by side, he set two mental portraits, and strove de- 
liberately, impartially, to discern any traces of resemblance 
between the two. The future Mrs. Benson was a personage 
that engrossed much of his thoughts, and by long practice 
in the portrayal of her lineaments, he had brought his fancy 
sketch very nearly to perfection. A tall, J uno-like figure, 
with raven locks, and large, melting eyes, unfathomable as 
clear ; features of classic mould ; an elastic, yet stately form ; 
a disposition in which amiability tempered natural impetu- 
osity, and generous impulse gave direction to gentle word 
and deed ; a mind profoundly imbued with the love of learn- 
ing, and in cultivation, if not strength, equal to his own ; 
discretion, penetration, and docility combined in such pro- 
portions as should render her her husband’s safest counsellor, 
yet willing follower ; and controlling and toning the har- 
monious whole, a devotion to himself only second in degree, 
not inferior in quality, to worship of her Creator. This was 
the ideal for whose embodiment our reasonable, modest 
Ccelebs was patiently waiting. Answer, oh ye expectant, in- 
cipient Griseldas ! who, from your beauteous ranks, will stej 
into the prepared niche, and make the goddess a reality ? 


•0 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


And how appeared the rival picture in comparison ? 

‘‘No, no!” he ejaculated, tossing the remnant of his tliiril 
cigar into the garden. “ I must seek further for the ‘ gulden 
mean.’ Intellect and heart are here, undoubtedly. I must 
liave beauty and grace as well. Yet,” he continued, ’•elentr 
ingly, “ there are times when she would be quite handsome 
if she dressed better. It is a pity her love for the bcautifu* 
does not enter into her choice of wearing apparel 1” 

In ten minutes more he was asleep, and dreamed that he 
stood at the altar with his long sought ideal, when, as the 
last binding words were spoken, she changed to Sarah Hunt, 
arrayed in a light blue lawn of last year’s fashion, that made 
her look as sallow as a lemon, and, to his taste, as little to 
be desired for “ human nature’s daily food.” 

Poor Sarah I The visionary robe was a faithful reflection 
upon the dreamer’s mental retina of a certain organdie 
which had formed a part of Lucy’s wardrobe the previous 
summer, and having become antiquated in six months’ time, 
was altogether inadmissible in the belle’s outfit of this sea- 
son. 

“Yet it cost an awful sum when it was new !” reasoned 
Mrs. Hunt, “ and will make you a very useful dress while 
you are with your Aimt Sarah. It’s too good to cut up for 
Jeannie!” 

“But tlie color, mother?” objected the unwilling re 
cipient. 

“ Pooh ! who will notice that ? Besides, if you had a 
good#* complexion, you could wear blue as well as anybody 

Sarah’s stock of thin dresses was not plentiful, and, re- 
(jailing this observation, she coupled it with the fact that sh^; 
was growing rosy, and dared to equip herself in the azure 
gannent, with what efiect she did not dream and Mr. PhiUf 
Benson did/ 


■ UflX B 


CHAPTHR V. 

On a pleasant, although rather cloudy forenoon in July^ 
dur young pleasure-seekers carried into execution a long- 
talked-of expedition to the Deal Beach, distant about ten 
miles from Shrewsbury. 

By Aunt Sarah’s arrangement, Charley and Jeannie oc- 
cupied the back seat of the light wagon, and Sarah was to 
sit by Philip in front, that she “ might see the country.” 
Having accomplished this apparently artless manoeuvre, the 
good woman handed up to them a portly basket of luncheon, 
and two or three additional shawls, in case of rain or change 
of weather, and bade the gay party Good-by” with a 
satisfied glow in heart and face. To her guileless apprehen- 
sion there was no question how afiairs were progressing 
between her niece and her nephew-in-law ; and in sundry 
conferences on the subject between ‘‘ husband” and herself, 
it had been agreed that a matrimonial alliance would be the 
best thing that could happen to either of the supposed 
lovers. In her simple, pious soul, the dear old lady already 
blessed the Providence that had acc?^ .mplished tne meeting 
and intercourse under her roof, while she wondered at “ the 
strange things that come about in this world. ” 

Philip had been aware of her innocent attempts to fawli- 
tate his suit for several days past, and Sarah’s blush, ap she 
hesitated, before accepting the proffered seat by the driver, 
showed that this move was so transpxrent as to convey tne 
ilarm to her also. For a full half mile Philip did not speak 


THE EMPTY HEAKT; OK, 


63 


except a word now and then to the pair of stout grays, 
who were Uncle Nathan’s greatest earthly boast. He ap- 
peared thoughtful, perhaps perturbed — so Sarah’s single 
stolen glance at him showed — and in the eyes that looked 
straight onward to the horizon, there was a hardness she 
had never seen there before. She was surprised, therefore, 
when he broke the silence by an unimportant observation, 
uttered in his usual friendly tone, and for the remainder of 
the ride was gay and kind, with a show of light-heartedness 
that was not surpassed by the merry children behind them. 

There was hardly enough variety in the unpicturesque 
country bordering their route to give the shadow of reason- 
ableness to Aunt Sarah’s pretext in selecting her namesake’s 
seat, and, despite her escort’s considerate attentions, Sarah 
had an uncomfortable ride ; while her manner evinced more 
of the haughty reserve of their introduction than she had 
shown at any subsequent stage of their acquaintance. The 
grays travelled well, and a little after noon they were de- 
tached from the carriage, and tied in the grove of scrub-oaks 
skirting the beach. 

While Philip was busied with them, the others continued 
their course down to the shore ; the children, hand-in-hand, 
skipping over sand-hills, and stopping to pick up stones ; 
Sarah strolling slowly after them. She had seen the ocean- 
surf before, but never aught like this, with its huge swells 
of water, a mile in length, gathering blackness and height 
on their landward career ; as they struck the invisible 
barrier that commanded, ‘‘ Thus far and no farther !’’ break- 
ing in white fury, with the leap of a baffled fiend, and a 
roar like thunder, against their resistless opponent, then 
recoiling, sullenly, to gather new force for another, and as 
useless an attack. The beach was wide and uneven, of 
sand, whose whiteness would have glared intolerably had 
Ihe day been sunny, drifted into hillocks and undulating 


ti (TSKS. 


M 


ridges, like the waves of the sea. Here and there the hardy 
heathor found a foothold amid the otherwise blank sterility, 
the green patches adding to, rather than lessening the wild, 
desolate aspect of the tract. Fragments of timber were 
«trewn in all directions, and Sarah’s quick eye perceived 
that it was not formless, cliance driftwood. There were 
hewn beams and shapely spars, and planks in which great 
Iron bolts were still fast. When Philip overtook her, she 
was standing by an immense piece of solid wood, lying far 
beyond the reach of the highest summer tides. One end was 
buried in the sand ; the other, bleached by sun and wind, 
and seamed with cracks, was curved like the extremity of a 
bow. Her late embarrassment or hauteur was forgotten in 
the direct earnestness of her appealing Look. 

‘‘ Am I mistaken ?” she said, in a low, awed tone. Is 
not this the keel of a ship ?” 

‘‘It is. There have been many wrecked on this coast.” 

“ Here !” She glanced from the fierce, bellowing break- 
ers to the melancholy testimonial of their destructive might. 
“ 1 have never heard that this was esteemed a dangerous 
point.” 

“ You can form but an imperfect idea of what this beach 
is in winter,” remarked Philip, signing to her to seat herself 
upon the sand, and throwing himself down beside her. “ 1 
was here once, late in the autumn, and saw a vessel go to 
pieces, scarcely a stone’s throw from where we are now sit- 
ting. The sea was high, the wind blowing a perfect gale, 
and this schooner, having lost one of her most importanv 
sails, was at the mercy of the elements. She was cast upon 
the shore, and her crew, watching their opportunity, sprang 
overboard as the waves receded, and reached firm ground 
in safety Then came a monster billow, and lifting the ves- 
sel farther upon the sand, left her careened towards the land. 
Jt was pitiful to see the poor thing ! so like life were hei 


64 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


shudders and groans, as the cruel surf beat against her, that 
my heart fairly ached. The spray, at every dash, arose 
nearly as high as her mast-head, and a cataract of water 
swept over her deck. Piece by piece she broke up, 
and we could only stand and look on, while the scattered 
portions were thrown to our very feet. I shall never forget 
the sight. It taught me the truth of man’s impotence and 
nature’s strength as I had never read it before.” 

‘‘But there were no lireslost! You were spared the 
spectacle of that most terrible scene in the tragedy of ship- 
wreck.” 

“ Yes. But the light of many a life has been quenched 
in that raging caldron. A young man, a resident of 
Shrewsbury, with whom I hunted last year, described to me 
a catalogue of horrors which he had beheld here, that has 
visited me in dreams often since. An emigrant ship was 
cast away on this coast, in midwinter. High above the roar 
of the wind and the booming surf, was heard the cry of the 
doomed wretches, perishing within hail of the crowd of 
fellow-beings who had collected at news of the catastrophe 
The cold was intense ; mast, and sail, and rope were coated 
with ice, and the benumbed, freezing wretches were exposed 
every instant to the torrents of brine that swept over them 
like sleet. The agony was horrible beyond description, but 
it was soon over. Before the vessel parted, the accent of 
mortal woe was hushed. Not a man survived to tell the 
tale*” 

For an nour, they sat thus and talked. The subject nad, 
for Sarah, a fearful fascination, and, led on by her absorbed 
ittention, Philip rehearsed to her wonders and stories of the 
mysterious old ocean, that to-day stretched before them, 
blanched and angry, under the veil of summer cloud, until to 
bis auditor there were bitter wailings blent with the surge’i 
roar; arms, strained and bare, were tossed above the dark 


HUSKS 


6S 


serpent-like swell of water, in unavailing supplication, and 
Imd, dead faces stared upon her from beneath the curling 
crests of the breakers. 

That day on the Deal Beach I How quietly happy was its 
eeming ! how full of event, emotion, fate — was its reality I 
( harley and Jeannie wandered up and down the coast, fill- 
ing their baskets with shells and pebbles ; cha^sing the re- 
tiring waves as far as they dared, and scampering back, with 
shrieks of laughter, as the succeeding billow rolled rapidly 
after them ; building sand-houses, and digging wells to be 
filled by salt-water ; exulting greatly when a rough coralline 
fragment, or a jelly-fish of unusual dimensions was thrown 
in their way. They all lunched together, seated upon the 
heather-clumps, around Aunt Sarah’s liberal hamper. 

‘‘Sister*’’ said Jeannie, when the edge of her sea-side 
appetite was somewhat blunted by her repast, “ I like living 
here better than in Now York — don’t you ?” 

“ It is more pleasant in summer, my dear.” 

“ But I mean that I am happier here ! I wish you would 
write to mother, and ask her to let us live here always.” 

“ But what would she do without her baby ?” asked Phil- 
ip, emphasizing the last word. 

The little lady bridled instantly. 

“ Cousin Phil ! I do wish you would never call me a 
‘baby’ again! I am seven years and two weeks old. I 
could get along very well without mother for a while. Of 
course, I would go over sometimes, and pay her a visit and 
get new dresses. Shrewsbury is a nice place ; I would like 
to buy that pretty white house next to Uncle Nathan’s, and 
live there — sister, and Charley, and I — and you-- if you 
would promise not to tease me ever !” 

“ Thank you !” said Philip, with admirable gravity, seem- 
ing not to note Sarah’s heightened color at this proposal o) 
copartnership. “ You are very kind to include me in you. 


tHE EMPTT HEAET5 0 %^ 


M 

household arrangements, and nothing would please me bet- 
ter, if I could stay here. But you know, Jeaniiie, my dear 
little cousin, that my home is far away from this quarter ol 
the world. I have remained here too long already.” There 
was a touch of feeling or nervousness in his voice. “ I had 
I letter last night, reminding me that I ought to have left a 
iveujv aero, to join a party of friends, whom I promised to 
meet in New York, and travel with them until the time for 
our return to the South.” 

He did not look at Sarah, but she felt that the explanation 
was intended for her — that, whether intentionally or not, hi 
was preparing her for a blow to heart and hope. 

‘‘ I shall be obliged to leave Shrewsbury and all my friends 
there, to-morrow morning, Jeannie !” 

The child’s exclamation of dismay, and Charley’s quick, 
mute remonstrance to his cousin, as his playfellow commu- 
nicated the news to him, gave Sarah time to rally firmness 
and words. 

‘‘This is unexpected intelligence,” she said, calmly. “We 
shall miss you. Your kindness has, directly and indirectly, 
been the means of aflTording us much pleasure during our 
visit to our good aunt. It will seem dull when you are 
gone.” 

There was a flash in Philip’s eye that looked like pleasure 
— a mixt ure of relief and surprise, as he turned to her, 

“ I am selfish enough to hope that you will miss me for a 
time, at least. I shall not then be so soon forgotten. We 
have had some pleasant days and weeks together ; have w 
not?” 

“jT have enjoyed them, assuredly.” 

She was a little pale, Philip thought, but that miglit be 
the effect of fatigue. Her cheek was seldom blooming 
unless when flushed in animated speech, or by brisk exer 
Bise. She spoke of his going with politeness, tha* seemed 


HtTSKS. 


67 


scarce one remove from carelessness ; and, man-like, his 
pleasure at the thought that their association in the country 
house had not been followed by the results Aunt Sarah 
wished and predicted, gave way to a feeling of wounded 
vanity and vexation, that his summer’s companion could re 
linquish him so easily. While he repeated to himself his 
congratulations that his friendly and gallant attentions had 
not been misconstrued, had not awakened any inconvenient 
because futile “ expectations,” he wondered if it were a pos 
sibility for a girl of so much sense and feeling, such genuine 
appreciation of his talents and tastes, to know him well — 
even intimately — without experiencing a warmer sentiment 
than mere approval of an agreeable associate’s mind and 
manners, and Platonic liking for him on these accounts. 

With the respectful familiarity of a privileged acquaint- 
ance, he drew her hand within his arm, as they arose at the 
conclusion of the collation. 

“We have yet two hours and more to spend here, before 
we set out for home. We can have one more walk and talk 
together” 

They took but one turn on the beach, and returning to 
their morning’s seat beside the half-buried keel, tried to talk 
as they had done then. It was hard work, even to the man 
of the world, the heart- free student of human nature. 
Gradually the conversation languished and died away, and, 
for a while, both sat silent, looking out upon the sea. Then 
Philip’s gaze came back to his companion — stealthily at first 
and, as she remained unconscious of his scrutiny, it lingered 
long and searchingly upon features, form, and attire. 

There were white, tight lines about her mcuih, and a 
slight knitting of the brow, that imparted a care-worn lock 
to the young face, it pained him to see. Her hands were 
clas})ed upon her knee, and the fingers were bloodless where 
hey interfaced one another. Was she suflTering ^ Was the 


68 


THE EMPTY HEAKT; OR 


threatened parting the cause of her disquiet ? K this wer€ 
BO, what was his duty as a man of honor — of common hu- 
manity ? And if he were forced to admit that he held her 
happiness in his power, and to accept the consequences that 
must ensue from his idle gallantry and her mistaken read* 
ing of the same, was the thought really repulsive ? Would 
it be a total sacrifice of feeling to a sense of right ? It was 
a repetition, grave and careful, of the re very of that July' 
night, two weeks ago. 

Sarah’s hat — a broad brimmed^ flat” of brown straw — ^had 
fallen back upon her shoulders, and the sea-breeze played in 
her hair, raising the short and loose strands, and giving to 
the whole a rough, “frowzy” look. Her plain linen collar 
and undersleeves showed her complexion and hands to the 
wmrst possible advantage. Upon her cheeks, this same un- 
friendly wind had bestowed a coat of tan and a few freck- 
les, that were all the more conspicuous from her pallor, while 
her fingers were as brown as a gypsy’s. Her gray poplin 
dress had lost most of its original gloss, and being one of 
Mrs. Hunt's bargains — ‘‘ a cheap thing, but plenty good for 
that outlandish Shrewsbury” — already betrayed its cotton 
w^arp by creases that would not be smoothed, and an aspect 
of general limpness — a prophecy of speedy, irremediable 
shabbin'ess. Cast loosely about her shoulders was a light 
shawl, green, with black sprigs-— another bargain ; and be- 
yond the skirt of her robe appeared the toe and instep of a 
thick-soled gaiter, very suitable for a tramp through damp 
sand, yet any thing but becoming to the foot it protected 

With an impatient shake of the head, involuntary and 
positive, Philip closed his final observation. And cutting 
oflT a large splinter from the weather-beaten timber, against 
which he leaned, set about trimming it, wearing a serious 
settled face, that said his mind was fully made up 

What had Sarah seen all this while ? 


a U 8 K 8. 


69 


Heaveus, over Avhicb the films of the fi)renoon had thick 
eiied into dun cloud-curtains, stretching above, and enwrap- 
ping the world ; a wild, dreary expanse of troubled waters, 
whose horizon line was lost in the misty blending of sea 
and sky, ever hurrying and heaving to moan out their unrest 
upon the barren beach. In the distance was a solitary sail 
nearer to the land, a large sea-bird flew heavily against tl 
wind. In such mateless, weary flight, must her life be passed , 
that lone, frail craft was not so hopelessly forlorn upon a 
gloomy sea, beneath a sky that gloomed yet more darkly — 
as was her heart, torn suddenly from its moorings — anchor, 
and rudder, and. compass gone! Yet who could syllable 
the mighty sorrow of the complaining sea? And were 
there words in human language, that could tell the anguish 
of the swelling flood beating within her breast ? 

“Going away! To-morrow!” For a little space this 
was all the lament she kept repeating over to herself. 
Pregnant with woe she knew it to be, yet it was not until 
she was allowed to meditate in silence upon the meaning of 
the words that she realized what had truly come upon her 
She had thrown away all her hope of earthly happiness — 
risked it as madly, lost it as surely, as if she had tossed it — 
a tangible pearl — into the yawning ocean. Her instinct 
assured her that, were it otherwise, the tidings of Philip’s 
intended departure, his suddenly formed resolution to leave 
ner, would have been conveyed to her in a far difierent 
manner. Her keen backward glance penetrated Aunt 
Sarah’s simple wiles ; his obvious annoyance thereat ; his 
determination to save himself from suspicion ; his honorable 
fear lest she, too, should imagine him loving, where he was 
only civil and kind. Yes, it was all over ! The best thing 
she could hope to do, the brightest prospect life had now 
for her, was that her secret should remain hers alone, until 
the troubled heart moaned itself into the rest which knows 


70 


THE EMPTHf heart; OR, 


ao waking. She was used to concealment. All her exist 
ence, excepting the sweet delusive dream of the past three 
weeks, had been a stern preparation for this trial. But she 
was already weary and faint — fit to lie down and die, sc 
ntense had been the throe of this one struggle. 

“ How long is this to last ? How long 

The exclamation actually broke, in an inarticulate murmur, 
from her lips. 

“ Did you speak inquired Philip. 

“ I think not. I am not sure. I did not intend to do 
so !” 

“ Grant me credit for my forbearance in not obtruding 
my prosaic talk upon your musings,” he went on, playfully. 

It was a powerful temptation — for I remember, constantly, 
that this is our last opportunity for a genuine heart and 
head confabulation, such as I shall often linger for, after I 
leave you — and sincerity 1 You have done me good. Miss 
Sarah ; taught me Faith, Hope, Charity — a blessed sister- 
hood !’’ 

May they ever attend you !” 

“ Amen ! and thank you ! And what wish shall I make 
in return for your beautiful benediction ?” 

“ Whatever you like. My desires are not many or ex- 
travagant.” 

“ You are wrong. You have a craving heart and a crav- 
mg mind. May both be fed to the fuU, with food convenient 
for them — in measures pressed down, shaken together, and 

unning over.” 

‘‘Of what? Husks?” was Sarah’s unspoken and bitter 

eply. She could not thank him, as he had done her She 
only bowed, and, bending forward, took up a handful of the 
fine white sand that formed the shore. Slowly sifting it 
through her fingers, she waited for him to speak again. 

Was this careless equanimity real or feigned? The 


HUSKS. 


71 


judge of character, the harpist upon heart-chords, made thf 
next move — ^not the candid manly friend. 

‘‘ I am going to ask a favor of you — a bold one.” 

“ Say on.” 

“ By the time I am ready to retrace my steps southward, 
you will be again settled in New York. Will you think me 
presumptuous, if I call at your father’s house to continue an 
acquaintance which has been, to me, at once agreeable and 
profitable ?” 

The fingers were still, suddenly. A warm glow, like 
sunrise, swept over cheek and forehead. A smile, slight 
but sweet, quivered upon her lips. Drowning in the depths, 
she heard across the billow a hail that spoke of hope, life, 
happiness. 

“We will all be glad to see you,” she said, with affected 
composure. 

“ Not half so glad as I shall be to come. Will you now, 
while you think of it, give me your address ?” 

He handed her a card and a pencil. She wrote the re- 
quired direction, and received in exchange for it the now 
smooth bit of wood, which had afforded occupation to Philip 
for half an hour past. It was tendered in mock ceremony, 
and accepted smilingly. Upon the gray tablet was inscrib- 
ed, “Philip Benson, Deal Beach, July 27th, 1856.” A 
playful or thoughtless impulse caused him to extend his 
hand for it, after she had read it, and to add a motto, stale 
as innocent in his eyes : Penaez d moi /” 

“ I shall preserve it as a souvenir of the day and place, ' 
observed Sarah, slipping it into her pocket. 

Twilight overtook them before they reached honie, and 
the night was too cloudy and damp for a promenade, such 
as they often had in the garden walks and lane, or for the 
customary family gathering in the long porch. Yet Aunt 
Sarah was surprised that Philip was apparently content tc 


fS THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 

Bpend the evening in the sitting-room, with herself and 
husband by, to spoil the tHe-d-tHe he must be longing for. 

Still more confounded was she, when, after her clever 
Btrategy of coaxing Uncle Nathan into the kitchen, that the 
coast might be clear, she heard Philip’s step close behind 
iliem 

I must clean my gun to-night, aunt,” he said, taking it 
from the corner ; “ I shall not have time to do it to-mor 
row.” 

With the utmost nonchalance he began the operation, 
whistling softly a lively air over his work. Aunt Sarah 
gave her partner a look of bewildered despair, which he 
returned by a confirmatory nod, and a smile, half comic, half 
regretful. 

After breakfast next morning, the nephew-guest said 
afiectionate farewells to his relatives and Jeannie; a grave, 
gentle adieu to Sarah, accompanied by a momentary pres- 
sure of the hand, that may have meant much or little ; and 
upon the snug homestead settled a quiet that was dreari- 
ness itself to one of its inmates. 


CHAPTER VI 


Meanwhile, how had the time sped to the noramal head 
of the Hunt household — the solitary, toiling father and 
husband ? The servants were dismissed when “ the fami* 
ly” left town, although Mr. Hunt continued to sleep at 
home. A peripatetic maid-of-all-work — what the English 
denominate a char-woman — was engaged to come early 
every morning to clear up th^ only room in the establish- 
ment that was used, before the cashier went out for his 
breakfast, which he procured at a restaurant pretty far 
down town. The same quiet coffee-house furnished him 
With dinner and an early tea, after which last refreshment 
he was at liberty to pass the evening in whatever manner 
he liked best. There was nothing in the city worth seeing 
at this season, even if he had not lost all tast^. for shows 
and gayety. Those of his acquaintances who were not 
absent with their wives and daughters, were living like 
himself, furniture in overalls : carpets covered ; apartments 
closed, with the exception, perhaps, of one bedroom ; and 
had no place in which to receive him if he had been in th 
habit of visiting, which he was not. He was very tired, 
moreover, by the time night came on, and as the heat 
increased, and the days grew longer, his strength waned 
more and more, and his spirits with it. Meekly and uncom- 
plainingly he plodded through his routine of bank duties, 
so steady and so faithful that his fellow-workers and 
customers had come to regard liim as a reliable fixture; a 


/4 THE EMPTY HEART, OB, 

piece of machinery, whose winding up was self-performed 
and whose accuracy was infallible. 

When, therefore, on a sultry August afternoon, he turned 
to leave his desk at the close of business hours, grew 
terribly pale, and dropped upon the floor in a fit of death 
like faintness, there was great consternation, and as much 
wonder as if no human clock-work had ever given out 
before, under a like process of exhausting demands. 

Clumsily, but with the best of intentions, they brought 
him to his senses, and in half an hour or so he was suffi- 
ciently recovered to be taken home. There was a twitch- 
mg of the lips that might have passed for a sarcastic smile, 
as he heard the proposal to convey him to his house ; but he 
only gave his street and number, and lay silently back in 
the carriage, supported by his friends, two of whom insisted 
upon seeing him safely to his own abode. 

“ Is this the place ? Why, it is all shut up !” exclaimed 
one of these gentlemen, as the driver drew up before the 
dusty steps. 

Mrs. Hunt’s orders were that the entrance to her mansion 
should present the most desolate air possible during her 
absence. It had an aristocratical look in the summer time, 
when everybody but nobodies was rusticating.” 

Again that singular contortion of the mouth, and the 
master (?) of the forlorn-looking habitation prepared to 
descend, fumbling in his pocket for his pass-key. 

‘‘ I am obliged to you, gentlemen, for your great kindness, 
and will — ^not — ^trouble — you — longer.” 

In trying to raise his hand to his hat for a bow, the 
ghastly hue again overspread his face, and he staggered. 
Without further parley, his two aids laid hold of him, one 
on each side, and supported him into the house, up one, two 
flights of linen-draped stairs, to a back bedroom. 

Mrs, Hunt would have let her husband faint on the aid#> 


HUSKB. 


75 


walk before nhe would have received oonjpany in that 
chamber in its present condition ; for the handsomest arti 
cles of furniture stood covered up in another apartment, and 
their place was supplied by a plain bureau, wash-stand, and 
bed belonging to the boys’ room, a story higher up. The 
*>vdsdom of this precaution was manifest in the signs of 
neglect and slovenliness displayed on all sides. One could 
have written his name in the dust upon the glass; there 
was dirt in every corner and under each chair and table ; the 
wash-basin was partly full of dirty suds, and the towels and 
counterpane shockingly dingy. 

These things were not remarked by the intruders until 
they had got their charge to bed, resisted no longer by him, 
for he began to comprehend his inability to help himself. 

“ There is no one beside ourselves on the premises, not 
even a servant,” one of them said, apart to his associate, 
after a brief absence from the room. ‘‘ If you will stay with 
him until I come back, I will go for a doctor.” 

The invalid caught the last word. 

“ Indeed, Mr. Hammond, there is no need for you to do 
any thing more — no necessity for calling in a physician. I 
am quite comfortable now, and shall be well by morning.” 

Mr. Hammond, who was a director in the bank, and 
sincerely honored the honest veteran now prostrated by his 
devoted performance of duty, took the hot, tremulous 
hand in his. 

‘‘ I cannot allow you to peril your valuable health, ray 
dear sir. Unless you positively forbid it, I shall not only 
call your physician, but drop in again myself this 3vening, 
and satisfy my mind as to whether you require my presence 
through the night.” 

He was as good as his word; but no amount of per 
suasion could induce Mr. Hunt to accept his offered watch 
He would be “ uneasy, unhappy, if his young friend sacri 


THE EMPTY HEABT; OR, 


/6 

Seed his own rest so uselessly,” and loath as 1 e was to *eav€ 
him to solitude and suffering, Mr. Hammond had to yield, 
At ms morning visit, he found the patient m#re tractable. 
After tedious hours of fevered wakefulness, he had en- 
deavored to rise, only to sink back again upon his pillow — 
r.zzy, sick, and now thoroughly alarmed at the state of his 
system. He did not combat his friend’s proposal to obtain 
a competent nurse, and to look in on him in person as often 
as practicable ; still, utterly refused to allow his wife to be 
written to on the subject of his indisposition. 

“ I shall be better in a day or two, probably before she 
could reach me. I have never had a spell of illness. It is 
not likely that this will be any thing of consequence. I 
greatly prefer that she should not be apprised of this 
attack.” 

Mr. Hammond was resolute on his part — the more de- 
termined, when the physician had paid another visit, and 
pronounced the malady a low fever, that would, doubtless, 
confine the sick man to his bed for several days, if not 
weeks. 

‘‘It is not just to your wife and children, Mr. Hunt, to 
keep them in ignorance of so important a matter!” he urged. 
“ They will have cause to feel themselves aggrieved by you, 
and ill-treated by me, if we practise this deception upon 
ihem.” 

Mr. Hunt lay quiet for some minutes. 

“ Perhaps you are in the right,” he said. “ Sarah would 
bo wounded, I know. I will send for her!” he concluded 
w ith more animation. “ She will come as soon as she re 
ceives the letter ” 

“Of course she will!” rejoined Mr. Hammond, confident- 
ly ; “ you are not able to write. Suffer me to be youi 
amanuensis.” He sat down at a stand, and took out his pen. 

Where is Mrs. Hunt at; present 


H (7SKS. 




** I am not sure. Either at Saratoga oi K e port. * 

Mr. Hammond looked surprised. But it is necessary^ 
tr, that we should know with some degree of certsdnty, oi 
tl\e letter may miscarry. Perhaps it would be well to wiit« 

« both places.” 

The letter ! Both places !” repeated Mr. Hunt, with 
perplexity. “I alluded to my daughter Sarah, sir, my 
second child, who is spending the summer with her aunt in 
Shrewsbury, New Jersey. May I take the liberty of asking 
you to write her a short note, mentioning my sickness in as 
guarded terms as you can use, and requesting her to come 
up to the city for a few days ? She has my youngest child — 
a little girl — with her. If she can be contented to remain 
with her aunt, Sarah had better leave her there. She would 
be an additional burden to her sister if she were here.” 

Whatever Mr. Hammond thought of the marked prefer- 
ence shown to the daughter above the wife, he said nothing, 
but proceeded to indite the desired epistle, adding, in a 
postscript, on his own account, that he would take pleasure 
in meeting Miss Hunt at the wharf, on her arrival, and for 
this purpose would be at the boat each day, until she made 
her appearance in New York. 

He went, accordingly, the next afternoon, although very 
sure thart she could not have received his letter in season to 
take that boat. Mr. Hunt had proved to him and to him- 
self the utter impossibility of her coming, yet his eyes 
brightened with expectancy as his friend entered, and faded 
into sadness as he reported the ill-success of his errand. 

“He is evidently extremely partial to this one of hii 
children,” thought Mr. Hammond, as he paced the wharf on 
the second evening, watching, amid noisy hack-drivers and 
express-men, for the steamer. “ I have seen the girls at 
parties, but do not remember their names. One of them is 
very pretty. I wonder if she is ‘ Sarah f ” 


TltE EMPTY heart; OB 


n 

It was growing dusk as the boat touched the pier. Sc 
dim was the light, that Mr. Hammond was obliged tc 
station himself close beside the gangway, and inspect the 
features of each lady passenger more narrowly than polite 
ness would, in other circumstances, have warranted. The^’ 
hurried across, men and women, tall and short, stout and 
slender, until there tripped towards him the figure of a 
young girl, attired in a gray dress and mantle, and carrying 
a small travelling bag in her hand. She would have passed 
him, had he not stepped forward and spoken. 

“ Miss Hunt, I beKeve I” 

In the uncertain twilight, he could see that she grew 
very pale. 

“ How is my father ?” 

There was no preamble of civility or diffidence ; n© re- 
serve in addressing him, a mere stranger; no trembling, 
preparatory queries ; but a point-blank question, in a tone 
whose impatient anguish moved his kind heart ; a piercing 
look, that would know the truth then and there I 

“He is better, to-day” — and he led her out of the press 
of the onward stream. “ He has not been dangerously ill. 
We hope and believe that he will not be.” 

“ Is that true ?” Her fingers tightened upon his arm. 

“ It is ! I would not, for the world, deceive you in such 
a matter.” 

“ I believe you ! Thank Heaven ! I feared the worst I” 
She covered her faoe with her hands, and burst into tears. 

Hammond beckoned to a hackman, close by, and when 
the short-lived reaction of over- wrought feeling subsided so 
far as to allow Sarah to notice surrounding objects, she was 
seated in the carriage, screened from curious or impertinent 
gazers, and her escort was nowhere to be seen. Several 
minutes elapsed before he again showed himself at the 
window. 


HUSKS. 


19 


"I must trouble you for ycur checks, Miss Hant, n 
order to get your baggage/’ 

Already ashamed of her emotion, she obeyed his demand 
without speaking. 

You have given me but one, ^ he said, turning it ovei 
in his hand. 

“ That is all, sir.” 

“Indeed! You are a model traveller! I thought no 
young lady, in these days, ever stirred from home without 
half a dozen trunks.” To himself he added, “ A sensible 
girl ! An exception to most of her sex, in one thing, at 
any rate !” 

Sarah sat well back into her corner, as they drove up 
lighted Broadway, and was almost rudely taciturn, while 
her companion related the particulars of her father’s seizure 
and subsequent confinement to his room. Yet, that she 
listened with intense interest, the narrator knew by her 
irregular breathing and immovable attitude. As they 
neared their destination, this fixedness of attention and 
posture was exclianged for an eager restlessness. She leaned 
forward to look out of the window, and when they turned 
into the last street, quick as was Mr. Hammond’s motion to 
unfasten the door of the vehicle, her hand was first upon 
the lock. It was cold as ice, and trembled so much as to be 
powerless. Gently removing it, he undid the catch, and 
assisted her to alight. 

The hired nurse answered their ring, and while Sarah 
brushed past her, and flew up the stairw ay, Mr. Hammond 
detained the woman to make inquiries and issue directions. 

“ It is all very dreary -like, sir,” she complained, “ Everj 
thing is packed away and locked up. There’s no getting at 
a lump of sugar without a hunt for the key, and all he’s 
seemed to care for this blessed day, was that his daughter 
should be made comfortable. He sent me oat this after 


80 THE EMPTY HEAHT; OB, 

noon to buy biscuits, and sardines, and peaches for her tea 
and told me where I’d find silver and china. It is not ai 
all the thing for him to be worrying at such a rate, lie’ll 
be worse for it to-morrow, and so I’ve told him, Mr 
lammond.” 

Perhaps not, Mrs. Kerr. His daughter’s coming will 
cheer him and quiet him too, I doubt not. I will, not go 
up now. Please present my regards to Mr. Hunt, and 
say that I will call to-morrow.” 

He purposely deferred his visit until the afternoon, sup- 
posing that Miss Hunt might object to his early and im- 
ceremonious appearance in the realms now under her con- 
trol ; nor when he went did he ascend at once to the sick- 
chamber, as was his custom before the transfer of its 
superintendence. Sending up his name by the nurse, he 
awaited a formal invitation, among the shrouded sofas and 
chairs of the sitting-room. 

“You’ll please to walk up, sir!” was the message he re- 
ceived; and the woman subjoined, confidentially, “Things 
is brighter to-day, sir.” 

They certainly were. With wonderfully little noise and 
confusion, Sarah, assisted by the nurse, had wrought an 
utter change in the desolate apartment. With the excep- 
tion of the bureau, which had been drawn out of sight into 
the adjoining dressing-room, and the bedstead, the com- 
mon, defaced furniture had disappeared, and its place was 
supplied by more comfortable and elegant articles. The 
windows were shaded, without giving an aspect of gloom 
to the chamber ; the bed-coverings were clean and tresb ; 
und the sick man, supported by larger and plumper pillows 
than those among which he had tossed for many weary 
nights, greeted his visitor with a cordial smile and out- 
stretched hand. 

“1 thank you for your kind care of my daughter last 


HUSKS. 


f 


evening, sir. Sarah, my dear, this is my friend, Mr. R^sini* 
mond, to whose goodness I am so much indebted.” 

‘•The debt is mine no less,” was the frank reply as she 
^hook hands with hei new acquaintance. ‘‘Wee^ never 
Lhank you sufficiently, Mr. Hammond, for all you lave don< 
or us, in taking care of him.” 

‘‘A genuine woman! a dutiful, affectionate daughter!’ 
v^as now Hammond’s ccunment, as he disdain ;d all right to 
her gratitude. ‘‘None of your sentiment.!, affected ab- 
'jurdities, with nothing in either head or heurt !” 

This impression was confirmed by dail v observation ; for 
politeness first, then inclination, induced liim to continue his 
‘professional” calls, as Sarah styled them. He seemed to 
divide with her the responsibility of her position. Its 
duties were onerous ; but for this she did not care. She 
was strong and active, and love made labor light — even 
welcome to her. A competent cook was inducted into 
office below stairs, and house .old matters went forward 
witli system and despatch. he eye of the misti’ess, pro 
te/n., was over all ; her hand ever ready to lift her share of 
the load, yet her attendance at her father’s bedside appeared 
uni emitting. His disease , without being violent, was dis- 
tressing and wearing, destroying sleep and appetite, and 
preying constantly upon the nerves. To soothe these, 
Sarah read and talked cheerfully, and often, at his request, 
sang old-time ballads and cbihiish lullabys to court diversion 
•md slumber. 

Occasionally Lewis Hammond paused without the door 
until the strain was concluded, drinking in the notes witK 
more pleasure than he was wont to feel in listening tc the 
bravuras and startling, astonishing cadenzas that were war 
bled in his ears by the amateur cantatrices of the “befl 
circles;” then, when the sounds from withm ceased, he 
delayed his entrance some moments longer, lest the song 
4 * 


B2 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


stress should suspect his eaves-droppirig. He ceased to 
speculate upon the reasons of Mrs. Hunt’s protracted ab- 
sence at a time when no true-hearted wife could, from 
choice, remain away from her rightful post. When, at the 
expiration of a fortnight from the day of the attack, the 
physician declared his patient feebly, but surely conva 
lescent, his young friend had decided, to his entire satisfao 
tion, that things were best as they were. Mr. Hunt had 
made a most judicious selection from the female portion 
of his family, and what need of more nurses when this one 
was so efficient and willing? He caught himself hoping 
that the fussy dame he had met in society would not 
abridge her summer’s recreation on account of an ailing 
husband. He had designed going to Saratoga himself, for 
ten days or two weeks ; but he was very well. It was diffi 
cult to get away from business, and this affair of Mr. 
Hunt’s enlisted his sympathies so deeply, that he could nrt 
resolve upon leaving him. If he had never before enjoyed 
the bliss that flows from a disinterested action, he tasted it 
now. 

Mrs. Hunt was not kept in total ignorance of what was 
transpiring at home. Sarah had written, cautiously and 
hopefully, of her father’s sickness and her recall ; repeat- 
ing Mr. Hunt’s wish that his consort should not hurry back 
through mistaken solicitude for his health and comfort ; and 
they were taken at their Avord. A week elapsed before an 
answer arrived — a lengthy missive, that had cost the writer 
more pains and time than the preparation for her annual 
“ crush” generally did. She was an indifferent penman, 
and sadly out of practice; but there was much to be said, 
%nd ‘‘ Lucy, qf course, circumstanced as she was, could not 
spare time to be her scribe.” 

The significant phrase underscored quickened Saiab’s 
curiosity ; but there was nothing for the next th] ee page« 


HUSKS. 


88 


cbjit fed or quieted it. They were filled with minute dire<i 
tions alout housewifery — economical details, that would 
have served as capita, illustrations of “Poor Richard’s'’ 
auixinis; injunctions, warnings, and receipts sufficient *1) 
juantity to last a young, frugally-disposed housekeeper foi 
the remainder of her natural existence. It was a tria^ to 
this exemplary wife and mother, she confessed, to absent 
herself so long from her home duties; but circumstances 
had compelled her stay at Saratoga. Of their nature, 
Sarah had already been informed in her sister’s last letter. 

“ Which I cannot have received, then — ” Sarah inter- 
rupted herself to say, as she read to her father: “I have 
not heard from Lucy in four weeks. I have thought hard 
of her for not writing.” 

“ But,” concluded Mrs. Hunt, “ matters looks well just 
now, and I know your father will aggree, when he heers 
all about our season’s work, that our labor and Money has 
been a good investment. Take care of the keys yourself, 
Sarah. Be pruedent, keep a sharp Lookout on the cooIl. 
and don’t negleck your poor father. Your Affectionate 
mother, E. Hunt. 

“P. S. Your kitchen Girl must have a Great deel ot 
spair Time. Set her to work cleening the House, for you 
may expeckl us home in two weeks, or maybe Less. 

“E. H.” 

Lucy nad slipped a note in the same envelope — a thin, 
satiny sheet, hardly larger than the little hand that had 
movea over its perfumed page. Her chirrgraphy was very 
running, very light very ladylike, and, we need not say, 
ery italical 

“ Mamma tells me, Sarah dear, that she has given you a 
hint of how matters ars progressing between your humble 
servant and owr particular friend^ of whom I wrote in mj 


84 


THE EMPTY HEART: OR 


last. The poor, dear woman flatters herself that it is aL 
her work ; but somebody else may have his own opinion, 
and I certainly have mine* I have had to caution her re 
peatedly, to prevent her from showing her delight toi 
plainly to my ‘ Goldfinch,’ as Vic. and I have dubbed hint 
Don’t be in a hurry with your congratulations, ma chhre, 
•There’s many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip;’ and 

altliough the season is so near over, I may yet see some 

one whom I like better than His Highness* Vic. has a 
beau, too — a rich widower, less fascinating than my 
devoted ; but a very agreeable man, without encumbrance.^ 
and very much smitten* So we pair off nicely in our rides 
and promenades, and, entre nous, are quite the talk. You 
are a good little thing to nurse ])apa so sweetly — a great 
deal better than I am. I told my knight of this proof of 

your excellence the other day, and he said that it was only 

what might have been expected from my sister ! Don’t you 
feel flattered ? Poor feliow! Love is blind, you know. 

“ Love to papa. I am sorry he has been so unwell. I do 
not imagine that I shall have time to write again before we 
leave this paradise* We will telegraph you when to ex- 
pect us. Perhaps I may have an escort home — some one 
who would like to have a private conference with my re- 
spected father. Hous verrons ! 

“ Lo\dngly, Litcib.” 

Mr. Hunt twisted himself uneasily in his arm-chair 
nis daughter, by his desire, reluctantly read aloud tin 
double letter. A shade of dissatisfaction and shame cloud<Ml 
his countenance when she finished, and he sighed heavily. 

am glad they are still enjoying themselves,” said 
Sarah, forcing a smile. ‘‘Lucy has secured a captive too, 
it ajipears — one whom she is likely to bring home at her 
chariot wheels.” 


HtJSKS. 


85 


In my day daughters were in the habit of consulting 
their fathers before gi^ung decidtd encouragement to any 
admirers, strangers especially,” said Mr. Hunt, with diS' 
pleasure. “ In these times there are no parents ! Ihere 
s the ‘old man’ and ‘the Governor,’ who makes the 
money his children honor him by wasting, and the ‘ poor, 
dear woman,’ who plays propriety in the belle’s flirtations, 
and helps, or hinders, in snaring some booby ‘ Goldfinch. 
It is a lying, cheating, hollow world ! I have been sick ol 
It for twenty years !” 

“ Father ! my dear father,” exclaimed Sarah, kneeling be- 
side him, and winding her arm about his neck. “ You mis- 
judge your children, and their love for you !” 

“ I believe in you, child ! I cannot understand how you 
have contrived to grow up so unlike your sister and your — ” 
The recollection of the respect his daughter owed her moth- 
er, cheeked the word. 

“ You do not deal fairly with Lucy’s character, father. 
She has one of the kindest hearts and most amiable disposi- 
tions in the world. I wish I had caused you as little anxiety 
as she has. Remember her obedience and my wilfulness ; 
her gentleness and my obstinacy, and blush at your verdict, 
Sir Judge r 

She seated herself upon his foot-cushion and rested her 
chin upon his knee, looking archly up in his face. She was 
surprised and troubled at this degree of acrimony in one 
whose habitual manner was so placid, and his judgment so 
mild ; but, for his sake, she was resolute not to show her 
feeling. He laid his hand caressingly upon her shoulder, 
and sank into a revery, profound, and seemingly not 
oleasant. 

Sarah took advantage of his abstraction to rem'>ve the 
wrapper of a newspaper received by the same mail that 
had brought her letters. The operation was carefully per 


theemptyheart; or, 

formed, so as not to invite notice, and the envelope laid awaj 
in her work-box. She knew well who had traced the clear 
bold superscription, and what initials composed the mysteri- 
ous cipher in one corner of the cover ; nor was this the 
only token of recollection she had from this source. Tlie 
irticle marked in the number of the literary journal he had 
selected as the medium of correspondence, was an exquisite 
little poem from an author whose works Philip had read to 
her in the vine-covered porch at Shrewsbury. Slowly, 
longingly she perused it ; gathering sweetness from every 
word, and fancying how his intonations would bring out 
beauties she could not of herself discover. Then she took 
out the wrapper again, and studied the postmark. On the 
former papers he had sent the stamp was illegible, but this 
was easily deciphered — “ Albany.” 

‘‘ So near ! He is returning homewards !” was the glad 
reflection that flooded her face with joy. 

‘‘ Sarah !” said her father, abruptly. ‘‘ Do you ever think 
of marriage ?” 

Sir ?” stammered the girl, confused beyond measure. 

“ I mean, have you imbibed yaur sister’s ideas on this 
subject ? the notions of ninety-nine hundredths of girls in 
your walk of life. Do you intend to seek a husband, boldly 
and unblushingly, in all public places ? to degrade your- 
self by practising the arts they understand so well to 
catch an ‘ eligible’ partner, who may repay your insincerity 
and mercenary views by insult and infidelity — at best by in- 
difference ! Child ! you do not know the risk match-making 
mothers and husband-hunting daughters run ; the terrible 
retribution that may be — that often is in store for such ! 1 
had rather see you and your sister dead, than the victims 
of that most hateful of heartless shows — a fashionable mar- 
riage ! Poor Lucy ! poor Lucy 1” 

I hope you are distressing yourself without reason, sir. 



HtTBKB. 


Mother is not the person to surrender her child to me whose 
character and respectability are not indisputable. Nor i? 
Lucy sentimental. I do not fear her sulFering very acutely 
from any cause.” 

“ I grant that. You would be more to be pitied as an un* 
loved or unloving wife, than she. I tremble for you some- 
times, when I think of this chance. My daughter, wh - * 
you marry^ look beyond the outside show. Seek for moral 
worth and a true heart, instead of dollaris and cents!” 

“ I will ! I promise !” said Sarah, her amazement at his 
earnestness and choice of topics combining to shake her 
voice and constrain her smile. ‘‘ But there is time enough 
for that, father dear. When the man of heart and worth 
sues for my poor hand, I will refer him to you, and abide 
entirely by your decision.” 

‘‘ Mr. Hammond is down-stairs,” said the servant at the 
door. And Sai^ah!,’ gathering vp her papers, escaped ^onr 
the room before he entered. 



VfiX SMPtY HBABT; 0B| 


86 


CHAPTER VII. 

Mb. Hunt was able to resume his place in the bank sevenu 
days before his wife returned. Uncle Nathan had brought 
jKUinie home as soon as her father could leave his room, 
and the boys had likewise been written for ; so that the fam 
ily reunion was apparently near at hand. 

Weak as he was, Mr. Hunt met his spouse and daughter 
at the d6p6t, and the noise of their entrance in the lower 
hall first apprised Sarah of their arrival. To the bound ot 
pleasurable excitement her heart gave at the certainty that 
they had come, succeeded a sigh at the termination of thf 
free, yet busy life she had led of late — ^the probability that 
she would be compelled to resume her old habits of feeling 
and action. Driving back the selfish regret, she ran down 
to welcome the travellers. 

“ How well you’re looking, Sarah !” said Mrs. Hunt, after 
kissing her. ^ I declare, if you was to arrange your hair 
different, and study dress a bit, you would come near being 
right down handsome.” 

“ ‘ Handsome is as handsome does !’ ” quoted Mr. Hunt, 
stoutly. ‘‘ According to that rule, she is a beauty.” 

“Thank you, sir!” said Sarah, bowing low. And she 
ried to forget, in her sister’s affectionate greeting, the chill 
and heart-sickness produced by her mother's business like 
manner and compliment. 

“Having disposed of one daughter, she means to work 
the other into merchantable shape!” was her cynical deduc- 
tion from the dubious praise bestowed upon herself 


HUSKS. 


89 


Mrs, Hunt pui*sued her way up the steps, examining an^l 
remarking upon every thing she saw. 

Thera stair-rods ain’t so clean as they had ouglit to be, 
Sarah, I’m afraid your girls are careless, or shirks. When 
did you uncover the carpet ?” 

‘‘Some time ago, mother, while father was sick. There 
were gentlemen calling constantly, and the cover looked 
shabby, I thought.” 

“It couldn’t be helped, I s’pose ; but the carpet is more 
worn than I expected to see it. With the heavy expenses 
that will be crowding on us this fall and winter, we can’t 
afford to get any new things for the house.” 

Lucy, who preceded her sister, glanced back and laughed 
meaningly. And Sarah was very glad that her father had 
not overheard the observation, which confirmed her belief 
that the beauty’s hand was disposed of without the form of 
consuitation with her natural and legal guardian. 

Dinner was announced by the time the travelling habili 
ments and dust were removed. Sarah had spared no pains 
to provide a bountiful and tasteful repast, at the risk of in- 
curring her mother’s reproof for her extravagant proclivities. 
But the dame was in high good-humor, and the youthful 
purveyor received but a single sentence of deprecation. 

“ I hope you have not been living as high as this all thj 
time, Sarah !” 

“ No, madam. Father’s wants and mine were very few 
I foresaw that you would need substantial refreshment aftei 
your journey.” 

“You was very thoughtful. We both have good appe 
tites, I guess. I know that I have.” 

“ Mine Avill speak for itself,” said Lucy. 

“ You have no idea how that girl has enjoyed everything 
lince she has been away,” observed Mrs. Hunt to her hus- 
oand. “There was Vic. West, who took it into her head 


•0 


THE EMPTY HEART; OK, 


that she ought to look die-away and peaking, and refuse food, 
when her beau was by ; but Lu., she just went right along 
and behaved natural, and Tm sure that somebody thought 
more of her for it.’’ 

Mr. Hunt’s face darkened for a moment ; but he couli 
not find fault with his eldest child on her first evening a 
home. 

‘‘ So you have been quite a belle, Lucy,” he said, pleas- 
antly. 

Better than that, Mr. H. !” Mrs. Hunt checked her 
triumphant announcement as the butler re-entered the room. 
“I shouldn’t wonder,” she resumed, mysteriously, “if Lucy 
was disposed to settle down into a steady, sedate matron 
after her holiday.” 

“ Don’t you deceive yourself with that hope !” laughed 
Lucy. 

She was evidently pleased by these not over-delicate allu- 
sions to her love-aflFairs, and, like her mother, extremely 
complacent over the result of her recent campaign. Sar^ih 
felt that, were she in her place, she would shrink from this 
open jesting upon a sacred subject ; still, she had not ex- 
pected that her sister would behave differently. Lucy’s na- 
ture was gentle without being fine ; affectionate, but shallow. 
She would have had no difficulty in attaching herself to any 
man whom her friends recommended as “ a good match,” 
provided he were pleasing in exterior, and her most devoted 
servitor. 

The sisters had no opportunity of private converse until 
they adjourned to the parlor for the evening. Lucy was 
very beautiful in a blue silk, whose low corsage and short 
sleeves revealed her superb shoulders and rounded arms. 
Her complexion was a rich carmine, deepening or softening 
with every motion — one would have said, with every breath. 
Her blue eyes fairly danced in a sort of subdued glee, very 


HtJSKS. 


91 


aharming and very becoming, but altogether unlike the ten 
der, dewy light of “Love’s first young dream.” 

“ How lovely you have grown, sister !” said Sarah, ear 
aestly. “ Oh, Lucy, I don’t believe you rightly value thf 
of beauty — as I would do, if it were mine !” 

“ Nonsense !” The dimples, that made her smile so be 
witching, broke her blushes into rosy waves, as the conscious 
fair one turned her face towards the mirror. “ I am pleased 
\o hear that I am passable to-night. We may have visitors. 
4 friend of ours has expressed a great desire to see me in 
my home — ‘ in the bosom of my family.’ Ahem I” 

She smoothed out an imaginary wrinkle in her bodice, an 
.xcuse for tarrying longer before the glass. 

“ He came to town with you, then ?” ventured Sarah. 

Lucy nodded. 

“ And promised to call this evening ?” 

“ Right again, my dear !” 

She was graver now, for she had conceived the happy no- 
tion of appropriating to her own use a cluster of white roses 
and buds she discovered in the vase on the marble slab under 
the mirror. If any thing could have enhanced the elegance 
of her figure and toilet, it was the coiffure she immediately 
set about arranging. The flowers were a present to Sarah 
from Lewis Hammond ; but sho thought little of him or of 
them, as Lucy laid them first on one, then the other side of 
her head, to try the effect. 

“ An I you really care for him. Lister ?” came forth in such 
a timid, anxious tone, that Lucy baist into a fit of laughter, 

“You dear little modest piece of romantic simplicity! 
One would suppose that you were popping the question 
ycurself, from your behavior. Care for him? Whj 
snouldn’t I ? I need not say ‘ yes’ unless I Jo, need I ?” 

“ But you take it ao coolly ! A betrothal is, to taoh 
a solemn thing ” 




THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


“ And to most other girls, perhaps. (There ! if I only had 
a hair-pin. Don’t rob yourself! thank you ! Isn’t that an 
improvement ?) As I was saying, why should I pretend to 
be pensive and doleful, when I am as merry as a lark ? or 
lovesick, when I have never lost a meal or an hour’s sleep 
iVom the commencement of the courtship until now ? That 
is not my style, Sarah. I am very practical in my views 
and feelings. Not that I don’t play talking sentiment in 
our genuine love-scenes, and I really like unbounded devo- 
tion on the other side. It is decidedly pleasant to be adored 
I was surprised to find how I enjoyed it.” 

“ Oh, sister ! sister !” Sarah leaned her forehead on the 
mantel, repelled and well-nigh disgusted by this heartless tri- 
fling — this avowed counterfeit — so abhorrent to her feelings. 
But Lucy was as much in earnest as she could be on such a 
theme. Sho went on, unheeding her sister’s ejaculation. 

“ Y ou must understand, of course, that we are not posi 
tively engaged. I gave him — Goldfinch — a good scolding 
for violating the rules of etiquette by addressing me while I 
was away from home; but it was just like him. He is as 
impulsive as he can live. To punish him I refused to answer 
him until after our return to New York, and his interview 
with father. He would have written to him on the spot, 
had I not forbidden him. He behaved so beautifully, that 
I consented to his taking charge of us to the city, and I sup- 
pose the rest must follow in good time. How melancholy 
your face is! Are you very much afflicted at the thorght 
of losing me ? Why, Sarah ! my dear child, are those tuari 
ji your eyes ? If she isn’t crying in good earnest I” 

And Lucy’s musical laugh rcfiled through the rooms jt 
ner enjoyment of the joke. What else could it be to her, elM 
with her success in achieving the chief end of woman —the 
capture of a rich and handsome, in every respect an unex 
ceptionable lover ? 


HUSKS. 


93 


‘‘Hist I” slie said, raising her fingei "He has ccme! 
Four eyes are red ! Run, and make yourself presentable !” 

The door, opening from the hall into the front parlor, 
%wung on its hinges as Sarah gained the comparative oV- 
< urity of the third and rear room. A strong impulse oj i;* 
:erest or curiosity there arrested her flight to enable her k 
^<) t a glimpse of her destined brother-in-law. Lucy had not 
mentioned his proper name, since her earliest letter from 
Newport had eulogized a certain George Finch, a Bostonian, 
wealthy, and attentive to herself. Sarah’s backward glance 
fell upon the visitor as he met his queenly bride elect 
directly under the blazing chandelier. 

It was Philip Benson ! 

Chained to the spot by weakness or horror, the looker-on 
stood motionless, while the suitor raised the lily fingers he 
held to his lips, and then led Lucy to a seat. His voice 
broke the spell. As the familiar cadences smote her ear, 
the sharp pain that ran through every fibre of her framf 
awakened Sarah from her stupor. 

How she gained her room she never knew ; but she had 
sense enough left to direct her flight to this refuge — and, 
when within, to lock the door. Then she threw up her 
arms with a piteous, wailing cry, and fell across the bed, 
dead for the time to further woe. 

Alone and painfully she struggled back to consciousness. 
Sitting upright, she stared wonderingly around her, unable 
to recollect what had stricken her down. The cham ber was 
imperfectly lighted by the rays of the street lamp opposite, 
and with the recognition of objects within its narrow limits 
there cr^t back to her all that had preceded her retreat 
thither. For the next hour she sat still— her head bowed 
upon her knees, amid the wrecks of her dream world. 

Dreary and loveless as had been most of ner previous 
ife, she had never endured any thing like this, unless one 


94 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


miserable tour upon the Deal Beach, when Philip broke 
the tidings of his intended departure, were a slight foretaste 
of the agony, the utter despair, that claimed her now for 
victim. Since then, she had been hopeful. His promise of 
a visit, the tokens of remembrance he had transmitted to 
her every week, had kept alive memory and expectation 
and this was his coming ! this the occasion she had pictured 
so fondly, painted with the brightest hues Love could 
borrow from imagination ! She had heard again the voice 
that had haunted her dreams, from their parting until now 
— ^heard it in deeper, softer tones than it had ever taken in 
speech with her ; heart-music which told that his seekings 
and yearning? for the one and only beloved were over. And 
was not her quest of years ended likewise ? Truly, there 
are two senses in which every search, every combat may be 
said to be closed ; one when the victor grasps his prize, or 
waves aloft his sword in the moment of triumph ; the other, 
when, bleeding, maimed, or dying, the vanquished sinks to 
the earth without power to rise ! 

A tap at her door started Sarah. She did not stir until 
it was repeated, and her father called her name. A stream 
of light from the hall fell upon her face as she admitted 
iiim. 

“ Daughter, what ails you ?” was his exclamation. 

I am not very well, father.” 

‘‘I should think not, indeed! Come m here and lie 
down 1” He led her to the bed, and, lighting the gas in 
the chamber, came back to her and felt her pulse. 

She knew what was the direction of his fears ; but U, 
correct his misapprehension waste subject herself to further 
questioning. Passively she received the pressure of his 
hand upon her head, the gentle stroking of the disordered 
hair; but, when he stooped to kiss her, he felt that sbf 
trembled. 


H U B K 8 


95 


^ Dear child ! I shall never forgive myself if yon nave 
taken the fever from me !” 

‘‘ 1 do not fear that, father. My head aches, and 1 am 
fery tired. I have been so busy all day, you know.” 

“Yes, and for many other days. You are, without 
oubt, overworked. I hope this may prove to be all the 
natter with you. A night’s rest may quite cuue you.” 

“ Yes, sir,” she answered, chokingly. “ You will excuse 
me to , down-stairs ?” 

“ Certainly. Would you like to have your mother come 
up to you ?” 

“ Oh, no, sir ! Please tell her there is no need of it. I 
shall be better to-morrow.” 

“ Your sister” — and he looked more serious, instead of 
smiling — “ has a visitor. Her friend is an acquaintance 
of yours, also, it appears — the Mr. Benson whom you met 
at your aunt’s in July.” 

“ Yes, sir. I know it.” 

“ I understood you to say that Lucy had never said 
positively who her lover was ; but this was not the name 
you told me of, as the person whom you imagined him to 
be.” 

“ I was misled for a time myself, sir,” replied the poor 
girl, pressing her temples between her palms. 

“ I see that I am tiring you. Forgive me ! but it is so 
natural to consult you in every thing. I must trouble you 
with some questions, which it is important should be an- 
swered to-night, before this gentleman and myself have any 
conversation. Is Mr. Benson a man whom you consider 
worthy of trust? Your mother represents him to be enor 
mously wealthy — a reputation I had concluded he possessed, 
from Lucy’s pet name for him. It is vvell that your sister 
has a prospect of marrying advantageously in this respect, 
for she would never be happy in an hurnble sphere ; but 


96 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


antiquated people like mvself regard other things as of 
greater consequence in concluding a bargain for a lifetime. 
Is your opinion of Mr. Benson favorable as to disposition, 
principles, and conduct 

Sarah’s head rested on the foot-board of hei couch, in 
weariness or pain, as she rejoined : I saw and heard noth- 
'iig of him, during our intercourse in the country, that was 
not creditable. His uncle and aunt are very partial to him, 
and speak of his character in high terms. Their testimony 
ought to have weight with you, for they have known him 
from his boyhood up.” 

It ought and does ! I am relieved to hear all this 1 
very much pleased !” said Mr. Hunt, emphatically. ‘‘ I have 
all confidence in Nathan Benson’s judgment and integrity. 
I hope his nephew is as sterling a man. Thus far,” he con- 
tinued, playfully, I have learned but one thing to his dis- 
credit, and that is, that having seen this one of my daughters, 
he could afterwards fall in love with the other.” 

“ I am not beautiful and good like Lucy, father.” 

‘‘Very dear and lovely in my eyes, my child! Again 
forgive me for having worried your poor head with my 
inquiries. I was unwilling to decide a matter where Lucy’s 
happiness was involved, without obtaining your evidence 
in the case. A last good-night ! and God bless you, my 
dearest, best daughter !” 

Sarah held up her face for his kiss without attempting to 
speak. This burning ordeal, the harder to endure because 
unexpected, was over. She was as weak as a child with 
conflicting passions when she arose and endeavored to 
undress. After stopping several times to regain breath and 
strength, she was at last ready to creep into bed, there to 
iie until morning broke, sleepless and suflering. 

Her sharpened senses could discern her father and 
mother’s voices in the sitting-room, in confidential talk — 


HUSKS. 


97 


te rnptcd, by and by, by Lucy’s pure mellow tones, appar 
ently conveying some message to the former. Its import 
was easily surmised, for his step was then heard in the hall 
and on the stairs, xmtil Le reached the parlor where Philip 
awaited him. Their conference did not occupy more than 
twenty minutes, which time Lucy spent with her mother- 
how gayly, Sarah could judge by the laugh that, again and 
again, reached her room. Mr. Hunt returned, spoke a few 
sentences in his calm, grave way, and the closing door was 
followed by a flutter of silk and fall of gliding footsteps, as 
Lucy went down to her now formally and fully betrothed 
husband. 

‘‘Husband!” Yes! it was even so! Henceforth the 
lives of the pair were to be as one in interest, in aims, in 
afiection. Erelong, they would have no separate outward 
existence in the eyes of the world. Was his chosen love, 
then, in a truer and higher sense, his other self — the being 
sought so long and carefully ? The pretty fiancee would 
have stretched her cerulean orbo i^. amazed wonder at the 
ridiculous doubt, and asked, in her rrafcter-offact way, how 
the thing could have happened, if it l\«\d not been intended ? 
Philip’s indignant affirmative would h^vo ^'xained fervor from 
Ilia exultant consciousness of posseerion — so novel and 
sweet. But one above stairs, taught s.\gacity by the 
depth of her grief, looked further into th**. fature than did 
they, and read th'jre a different reply. 

She heard the clang of the front door as it shut after th 
young lover, and, in the still midnight, the echo^i*, faint and 
fainter, of his retreating footsteps — the same f'ee, light 
tread she used to hearken for in porch and hall of that river- 
side farm-house ; and as the remembrance came cv^r her 
•he turned her face to the wall, murmuring passioarv ely, 
“ Oh ! if I could never, never see him again I” 

This feeling, whether born of cowardice or despertiloo, 
6 


98 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


was the ruliDg one, when her mother looked in upon hel 
before breakfast, and expressed her concern at finding her 
still in bed. 

‘‘I am not well enough to get up, mother!” Sarah said 
sincerely, and Mrs. Hunt, reading in the parched lips and 
blood-shot eyes proof of the justice of the fears her husband 
had expressed to her the preceding evening, resolved that 
the doctor should see her “before she was two hours 
older.” 

In vain Sarah entreated that this should not be done, and 
prophesied her recovery without his assistance. For once 
her parents were a unit in sentiment and action, and the 
physician was summoned to his second patient. 

“ All febrile symptoms were to some extent contagious,” 
he affirmed ; “ and while Mr. Hunt’s malady was not gener- 
ally classed with such, it was very possible that his daugh- 
Jer had contracted an analogous affection, in her constant 
itten dance upon him.” 

This decision Sarah dared not overthrow, much as she 
jvished to do so, when she saw how it afflicted her father. 

Undaunted by any fears of infection, Lucy repaired te 
Aer sibttr’s chamber when she had despatched her break 
fast. 

“Isn’t it too provoking that you should be sick just at 
this time she began, perching herself, school-girl fashion, 
on the foot of the bed. “ I really admired your staying up 
stairs last night ; but I did not dream that you really were 
aot well. I promise you that I made capital of your ab- 
jence. I told Philip (how odd it sounds, doesn’t it ?) that 
you ran away when he rang the bell, because you had made 
a fright of yourself by crying over the prospect of my leav- 
ing you, and that I had no doubt that you had grieved 
yourself into a headache. He wanted to know forthwith if 
YOU objected to my marrying him; but I said ‘No;’ that 


HtJBKB. 


99 


you were charmed with the match, and preferred him to any 
other admirer I had ever had ; but that we — you and I — 
were so devoted to one another, that it was acute agony to 
as to think of parting. About ten o’clock he asked to see 
father, and they soon settled affidrs. When I went down 
igain, he tried a little ring on my finger that he always 
wears, and it fitted nicely. So I knew what it meant when 
he put it back upon his own hand, and that with that for a 
measure he could not go wrong in getting the engagement- 
rincr. I do hope it will be a diamond. Vic. West declares 
that she would not accept any thing else. I considered for 
a while whether I couldn’t give him a delicate hint on the 
subject, but I did not see how I could manage it. And 
don’t you think, Avhile I was studying about this, he fancied 
I was sober over ‘ the irrevocable step I had tak 'n,’ and be- 
came miserable and eloquent at the suspicion ! J. ^/fish I 
could remember all he said ! It was more in yoar than 
mine ! But he is a good, sensible fellow, with all his romantic 
notions. He has a handsome fortune, independent of his 
father, left him by his grandfather, and we are to live in 
Georgia part of the year only, and travel every summer. 
Mother says his account of his prospects and so forth to 
father was very satisfactory, but she has not got at all the par- 
ticulars yet. Father is so worried about your sickness that 
he cannot spare a thought for any thing or anybody else. 
The liglit from that window hurts your eyes — doesn’t it ? I 
will let down the shade.” 

But Sarah lay with her hand protecting her eyes, when 
her sister resumed her position and narration. 

“We are to be married in December. He begged hard 
for an earlier day, but I was sure that I could not be ready 
before then. As it is, we shall have to hurry when it oomefl 
to the dresses, for, in order to get the latest fashions, we 
must wait until the eleventh hour. Won’t I ‘astonieh the 


100 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


natives’ down South ? I couldn’t state this Philip, you 
know ; so 1 referred him to mother, who is to say, when he 
asks hei-, that her preference would be to keep me just as 
long as slie possibly can. Entre nous, my dear, our good 
mamma has said truer things than this bit of sentiment — 
but nimportel These embellishments are necessary to such 
transactions.” 

Miss West’s friendship or curiosity could not endure Ion 
ger suspense, and the intelligence that she was below 
checked the monologue. 

“ I will run up again whenever I can,” promised Lucy, 
by way of compensation for her abrupt departure, ‘‘and 
keep up your spirits by telling you all that I can about oui 
concerns. But Philip is to take me to ride this aftemooa 
I forbade him to come here before then, but I don’t much 
think that he can stay away. Don’t be vexed if you don’t 
see me again in some hours. Vic. and I are about to settle 
our trousseaux. If you believe me, we have never been 
able yet to decide upon the wedding-dresses !” 

And she vanished, warbling delicious roulades from a 
duet she had engaged to sing that evening with her betroth- 
ed. She showed herself up-stairs again, when she was rea- 
dy for her ride and the carriage at the door — very fair, very 
bright, and very happy. She was exquisitely dressed, and 
called on her sister to admire her toilet and envy her her 
escort. 

Sarah listened to the cheerful excnange of cautions %xii 
promises between her mother and Philip, at the door beneath 
lier open window, and to the rolling wheels that bore them 
a way. 

Mrs. Hunt received none of her friends that day, being 
busy “ getting things to rights and for a like reason she 
absented herself from her child’s sick-room^ content with 
sending up Jeannie, now and then, to inquire how she was 


HUSKS 


101 


getting on. In the abject loneliness that oppressed her 
when the first violence of passions had spent itself, Sarah 
would have been relieved in some measure by the society of 
this pet sister, the sole object upon earth, besides her father, 
that had ever repaid her love with any thing like equal at 
tachment. But the child shrank, like most others of her 
age, from the quiet dark chamber of illness, and longed to 
follow her mother through the house, in her tour of obser- 
vation and renovation. Sarah detected her restlessness and 
ill-concealed dislike of the confinement imposed upon her 
by compliance with her humble petition, — 

“ Please, Jeannie, stay a little while with your poor sis^ 
ter !” And her sensitive spirit turned upon itself, as a final 
stroke of torture, the conviction that here^ also, love and 
care had been wasted. 

“ Go, then !” she said, rather roughly, as Jeannie wavered, 
‘‘ and you need not come up again to-day. I know it is not 
pleasant for you to be here. Tell mother I want nothing 
but quiet.” 

“ I have had a splendid drive !” said Lucy, rustling her 
many flounces into the door at dusk. 

The figure upon the bed made no response by motion or 
word. 

“I do believe she is asleep !” added the intruder, lowering 
her voice. I suppose she is tired and needs rest.” And she 
went out on tiptoe. 

Sarah was awake a minute later, wnen her father came 
in to see her. She smiled at him, as he “ hoped she, wai? 
better,” and asked whether she might not get up on the 
morrow. Mr. Hunt thought not. The doctor s o|)iiiioD 
was that perfect repose might ward off the worse featureij 
of the disease. She had better keep her bed for a couj)ie 
of days yet, even should she feel well enough to be about 
lie sent up her dinner to her room with his own hands ; an^' 


102 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


when slie learned this, she strove to do some feeole justice 
fco the ^dands, but without success. 

Philip dined with the farnily that day by special appoint- 
ment ; and, shortly after his arrival, Lucy again presente^l 
herself in that small third-story bedroom. 

Choose ! which hand will you take she cried, hiding 
i)oth behind her. 

Sarah would make no selection ; and, after a little more 
trifling, the elder sister brought into sight two elegant bou- 
quets, and laid them beside the invalid. 

‘‘ This is Philip’s present — ‘ a fraternal remembrance,’ he 
told me to say. Here is his card. Doesn’t he write a love- 
ly hand ? The other is from your admirer, Mr. Hammond. 
What a sly puss you were to make such a catch as he is, 
without dropping us a hint ! He is rather too sober for my 
notions; but he is getting rich fast, they say. He left those 
flow'ers at the door himself, and insisted upon seeing father 
foi % moment, to know exactly how you were. Cannot you 
hurry up somewhat, and let us have a double wedding ? I 
showed the bouquet to Philip, and told him of your con- 
quest, and he was as much pleased at your prospects as I 
was. Did you ever see such magnificent roses ? your beau 
paid five dollars, at the lowest computation, for these flowers. 
I congratulate you upon these signs of liberality !” 

Sarah had heard only a portion of this speech. Her eyes 
were fixed upon the card her sister had put into her hand : 
“ Will Miss Sarah accept this trifling token of regard from 
one who is her stanch friend, and hopes, in time, to have a 
nearer claim upon her esteem?” 

Very neatly turned, is it not?” said Lucy, satisfiedly. 
She had read it on her way U}>-stairs. ‘‘ What shall I say to 
him from you ?” 

“ Thank him, and explain that I am not able to write 9 
reply/’ 


HUSKS. 


loa 


This meagre return of compliments assumed a tone both 
grateful and sisterly as Lucy rehearsed it to the donor ol 
the fragrant offering. The barest phrase of civility came 
gracefully and meaningly from her tongue. Serene in mind 
and countenance, she seated herself at the piano, and, ai 
Philip took his stand at her side, he wondered if the world 
held another couple more entirely adapted each to the pe- 
culiar soul-needs of the other, more perfectly happy in the 
knowledge of mutual affection. Like the generality of the 
orists, your student of human nature is prone to grievous 
error when he reduces his flawless system to practice. 

In one respect, the two certainly harmonized well. Both 
loved music; both sang finely, and their voices accorded 
without a jarring note. 

Mr. Hunt read the evening papers in Sarah’s room ; turn 
ing and folding them with great circumspection, lest their 
rattling might annoy her, and detract from her enjoyment 
of the music. How could he guess the infatuation that 
caused her to listen greedily to sounds, under whose potent 
spell feeling was writhing and brain reeling? In every 
pause between the songs there arose in her memoiy two 
lines of a poem read long ago, when or where she knew 
not : — 

‘ Seek not to soothe that proud, forsaken heart 
With strains whose sweetness maddeTis as they faUV'' 

The performers had just completed a duet, in which each 
voice supported and developed, while blending with the 
other, when Lucy took up the prelude to a simpler lay ; re- 
peating it twice over with skilful variations, as if she were, 
meantime, carrying on a colloquy with her companion, that 
delayed the vocal part. This was ended by Philip’s raising 
alone the burden of the plaintive German air Sarah remem- 
oered so truly — ‘‘ The long, long, weary day.” 


104 


THE EMPTY HEAKT; OB 


As his voice, full and strong, with its indescribable anJ 
irresistible under-current of pathos — flowing out here into 
passionate melancholy — swelled and floated through the 
quiet house, Sarah sat upright. 

Father ! father !” she whispered, huskily, “ I cannot 
bear thatl Shut the doors! — all of them, or I shall go 
madr 

She was obeyed ; Mr. Hunt hurrying down to the par- 
lors to silence the lovers, with the representation that Sarah 
was too nervous to endure the excitement of music. For 
the remainder of the evening, a profound stillness pervaded 
the upper part of the mansion — a silence that, to Sarah, 
throbbed with the melody she had tried to hush ; and look 
where she might, she gazed into that rainy, ghastly night — 
the pale, comfortless watcher, the shadowy type of her 
deeper, more blighting sori'ow. 


HUSKS 


CHAPTER VIII. 

For three days Philip Benson lingered near his beaatifin 
enslaver ; on the fourth, he carried a sad, yet trustful heart 
upon his Southern journey, Sarah had not seen him once 
since the evening of his coming. Through Lucy, she re- 
ceived his adieux and wishes for her speedy recovery. On 
the next day but one slie left her room, and appeared again 
in the family circle — now complete in all its parts. 

In that short season of bodily prostration, the work of 
years had been wrought upon her inner life. Outwardly 
there was little alteration save that effected by physical 
weakness ; but in her views of existence and character, of 
affections and motives, the doubter had become the skeptic , 
the dreamer the misanthrope. To the gentler and more 
womanly aspirations that had for a season supplanted the 
somewhat masculine tendencies of her mind and tastes had 
succeeded a stoicism, like the frozen calm of a winter’s ’day, 
uniform as relentless. This was the surface that locked and 
concealed the lower depths she had sworn should be forever 
covered. Others could and did live without hearts. She 
could thrive as well upon the husks and Sodom apples of 
this world’s goods as did they ; holding as Life’s chief good, 
eomplete and final subjugation of all genuine emotion, 
which, at the best, was but the rough ore — fit for nothing 
until purged, refined, and polished in its glitter. She found 
no other creed that suited her present desperate mood so 
well as the most heartless code of the thorough worldling 
— the devotee to show, and fashion, and wealth. 


106 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


Such was her mother, whose domestic virtues were extol 
led by all who knew her; such, behind her mask of tender 
grace and amiability, the sister who had won, by these fac- 
titious attractions, the heart for which Sarah would have 
5>erilled life, sacrificed ease and inclination, bowed her proud 
ijpifit to the estate of bond-servant to his every caprice, 
become the willing slave to his tyrannical behest. Yet 
Philip Benson was a professed judge of character ; a man 
of sense, education, and experience, and, knowing both girls 
as he did, he had made his choice ; set the stamp of his 
approval upon the shining, rather than the solid metal. 
The world, as its young would-be disciple believed she had 
at length learned, was made up of two classes : those who 
floated, and those who sank. To the latter she determined 
that she would not belong. 

These and kindred thoughts were rife in her mind, and 
stirring up many a spring of gall within her bosom, one 
morning as she lay back in an arm-chair in the sitting-room, 
listening with secret scorn to the prattle of the pair of be- 
trothed maidens — Lucy and her friend. Lucy’s engagement 
ring was a diamond, or, rather, a modest cluster of these 
precious stones, whose extreme beauty did not strike the 
casual eye with the startling effect of Victoria’s more showy 
gacie amour. This apparent difference in the value of the 
two was the source of many discussions and considerable 
heart-burning, disguised, of course, and threatened in time 
to produce a decided coolness between the attached wearers 
of the articles under debate. 

On this particular day, Victoria, after some adroit skir- 
mishing, brought out as a “ poser ” the fact that, to lay the 
question to rest without more ado, she had, since their last 
interview, been to Tiffany’s, and had her ring valued. 
Lucy’s face was all aglow as her soul-sister named the price 
of her treasure. She clapped her hands joyously. 


10 \ 


H ir S K 8 

-Isn’t Jiat the joke of the season, mother as that 
personag » entered. “ Don’t you think that Vic. was as 
oonning as we were? She carried her ring to Tiffany’s 
yesterday, too. Wouldn’t it have been too funny if we had 
met there ? Mine came from there, they said, and it cost a 
<*ool fifty dollars more than yours did, dear !” 

Victoria flushed hotly; but further controversy being 
useless and dangerous to her, she acquiesced with assumed 
carelessness in Lucy’s proposal, that, since both were suited, 
the rival brilliants should not be again referred to as a dis- 
puted matter. They accordingly turned to the safer and 
endless conferences upon the trousseaux, whose purchase 
must be commenced immediately. 

Their incomplete lists were produced, compared, and 
lengthened — Mrs. Himt suggesting and amending; Sarah 
surveying the busy group with the same intense disdain she 
had experienced throughout the conversation. 

“ Oh, I forgot to tell you ! Margaret Hauton called on me 
yesterday!” exclaimed Victoria. “Did she come here, 
too ?” 

“Yes; but we were out. What did she say?” queried 
Lucy, breathlessly. 

“ Why, the stupid creature never alluded to my engage- 
ment ; and when I mentioned yours, pretended not to have 
heard of it before. I took care she should not go away as 
ignorant on the subject as she had come, and — I know it 
was wicked in me, but she deserved it — all the time I wa 
praising ycur Goldfinch, and telling how handsome and lib 
eral he was, I sat looking down at my new ring, slipping it 
up and down my finger, as if I were not thinking of it, but 
of the giver. She could not help seeing it, and, to save Liei 
life, she could not keep from changing countenance.” 

“Good!” said Lucy. “Do tell me how sne is looking 
now ?” 


108 


THE EMPTY HEART; OE, 


Common enough ! She had on that everlasting lila« 
silk, with the embroidered flounces, although the style ii 
as old as the hills — and that black la(,e mantle, which, hap- 
pening to be real, she never leaves off until near Christmas, 
But her hat ! black and corn-color. Think of it ! corn-coloT 
ffesramst her saffron skin ! When I pretend to lead society, 
I hope to dress decently. But I had my revenge for hei 
8up(3rcilious airs. Mr. Bond — George — called in the after- 
noon to take me to ride. I told you of the handsome span 
of fust horses he has been buying. Well! we concluded 
to try the Bloomingdale road, and just as we were sailing 
along, like the wind, whom should we overtake but my 
Lady Hauton, lounging in her lazy way (she thinks it aristo- 
cratic!) on the back seat of her father’s heavy, clumsy 
barouche — not a soul in it but her mother and herself. 
Didn’t I bow graciously to her as we flew by ! and again, as 
we met them creeping along, when we were coming back? 
I wouldn’t have missed the chance of mortifying her for a 
thousand dollars.” 

Lucy laughed, with no sign of disapprobation at the 
coarse, vindictive spirit displayed m this petty triumph of a 
\ small soul. 

“ How many evening-dresses have you put down on your 
paper, Vic. ?” 

“ Half a dozen only. I will get others as I need them. 
The styles in these change so often that I do not care to 
have too many at a time.” 

There you will have the advantage of me,” said Lucy, 
ngenuously. ‘‘It will not be so easy a matter to replenish 
my stock of wearable dresses. I wish I had asked Philij. 
about the Savannah stores. I wonder if he knows anj 
thing about them ?” 

“He ought to — ^being such a connoisseur in ladies 
dress. I declare I have been absolutely afraid of him sinos 


HUSKS 


109 


1 heara nim say that he considered a lady’s apparel a 
criterion of her character.” 

“ He has exquisite taste !” said Lucy, with pardonable 
pride in her lover. ‘‘ It is a positive j^leasure to dress foi 
kiin. He sees and appreciates every thing that I could 
wish to have him notice. He has often described to me 
what I wore, and how I looked and acted the evening he 
fell in love. How little we can guess what is before us ! 1 

did not care to go to the hop that night, for Mr. Finch was 
to wait on me, and he was so stupid, you know, aftei 
we discovered that it was a mistake about his being rich. 
I think I see him now, with his red face and short neck ! 
Oh dear ! the fun we had over that poor man ! I told you— 
didn’t I, Sarah — that we named him Bullfinch, because ho 
looked so much like one ? When Phil, came we called him 
Goldfinch, and the two went by these names among us 
girls. The Bullfinch heard of it, and he was ridiculously 
angry ! So I put on a white tarlatan, that one with the 
double jupe, you know, Vic., ftstooned with whit^ moss 
rose-buds, and I had nothing but a tea-rose in my hair. I 
danced once with the Bullfinch — one of those solemn 
quadrilles that are only fit for grandmothers — and vowed 
to myself that I would not stand up again, except for a 
Polka or the Lancers. While I was sitting down by the 
window, saying ^ Yes’ and ‘No,’ when Bullfinch spoke, Mr. 
Newman introduced ‘Mr. Benson’ to ‘Miss Hunt,’ and the 
work was done !” 

“No more waltzing, then!” was Victoria’s slyly mali- 
cious sequel. 

I did not care so much for that as I thought I should 
replied easy-tempered Lucy. “You cannot find a man whc 
has not some drawback. Before I had a chance for another 
round, mother there managed to telegraph me that my 
fr^h acquaintance was worth catching* She had gotten 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


Iio 

his whole story out of Mrs. Newman. He let me know 
pretty soon, that he had some queer scruples about fancj 
dances, and I thought it best to humor him for one evening 
or until I should ascertain whether he was really ‘ taken’ or 
not. I have never repented my self-denial, although I grant 
that it cost me a struggle to give up ‘ the German.’ ” 

“ George lets me waltz to my heart’s content,” said Vic- 
toria. “ He is the very soul of indulgence. As to laces — 
I have not a thing fit to wear. I must get every thing new. 
I am glad of it ! I enjoy shopping for them. If I have a 
passion, it is for laces !” 

A sneer curled Sarah’s lip, and Victoria, happening to 
glance that way, could not mistake its application, whatever 
she might surmise as to its origin. 

“ I suppose you despise us as a couple of love-sick girls, 
Sarah ?” she said, with a simper designed to be sentimental, 
^'hereas it was spiteful instead. 

“ I think love the least dangerous of your complaints,” 
W'as the rejoinder. 

“ What do you mean ?” 

‘‘ Just what I said !” 

“ She means that people do not die of love in these days,” 
exclaimed Lucy, whose pleasure-loving nature always shud 
dered at the idea of altercation in her presence; her sensa- 
tions, during the occasional sparrings of her sister and hei 
friend, bearing a strong resemblance to those of an innocent 
white rabbit, into whose burrow a couple of belligerent 
Hedgehogs have forced their way. 

“You will understand us better one day, when your turn 
comes,” said Victoria, with magnanimous cor.descension. “ I 
shall remind you then of yom* good opinior of us.” 

“You may.” 

“I would give any thing to have you engaged, just to B6i 
how you would behave. Would not you, Lucy?” 


H U S 8 . 


iU 

^ Yes ; if she were likely to do as well as we are doing. 
Philip says that you have many fine qualities, Sarah. H« 
quite admires y u.” 

The complacent betrothed had none but the most amiable 
intentions in making this patronizing speech ; therefore, th€ 
angry blood that surged over her sister’s face at hearing it 
would have been to her but the blush of gratified vanitV; 
had not the sparkle of her eye and the contemptuous con 
tortion of her mouth undeceived her. 

“ Indeed he did say so !” she hastened to repeat. And 
he was in earnest ! He said something else which I don't 
mind telling, now that he belongs to me fast and sure. He 
said that he sat up until twelve o’clock one night after you 
had been out boating, deliberating whether he should be 
smitten with you or not. There !” 

The color retreated as quickly as it had come. But for 
the consciousness of Victoria’s malicious scrutiny, Sarah 
coiuld not have summoned strength to utter a word. 

‘‘ An equivocal compliment, I must say !” she retorted, 
sarcastically. ‘‘ Your gallant Georgian’s confessions must 
have been ample and minute indeed, if they comprised such 
distant approaches to love afiTairs as the one you honor me 
by mentioning. I do not think that I have ever heard of 
another case where a gentleman considered it necessary to 
enumerate to his fiancee^ not merely the ladies he had loved, 
but those whom he had not !” She arose and left the room. 

Poor Lucy, rebuffed and overwhelmed, caught her as- 
tonished breath with a sigh. ‘‘ Can anybody tell me what 
I have done now to fret Sarah ? She is so cross since sh« 
was sick !” 

‘^And before, too!” mutely added V'etoria’s shrug and 
lifted eyebrows. 

‘‘We must bear with her, my dear!” said the prudent 
mother. “ Her nerves are affected, the doctor says,” 


IHE EMPTY heart; OB 


made random pencillings upon the importan 
[hi — hei thoughts in fast pursuit of a notion that had just 
struck her. She was neither witty nor intelligent ; but she 
possessed some natural shrewdness and a great deal moif 
acquired cunning. She detested Sarah Hunt, and the pros 
pect of obtaining an engine that should humble her arra 
gant spirit was scarcely less tempting than her own chance 
of effecting an advantageous matrimonial settlement. 

While she was engaged in defining her suspicion to her- 
self, and concerting measures for gathering information with 
regard to it, Mrs. Hunt went out on some household errand, 
and Lucy was obliged to descend to the parlor to see callers. 

“ Don’t go untU I come back, Vic. It is the Dunhams, 
and they never stay long,” she said, at quitting her asso- 
ciate. 

“ Oh, I always make myself at home here, you know, my 
dear !” was the reply. 

Jeannie was sitting on a cushion near the chair Sarah had 
occupied, dressing her doll. 

‘‘ It won’t fit !” she cried, fretfully, snatching ofiT a velvet 
basque she had been endeavoring to adjust to the lay-figure. 

“Bring it to me! I can fix it!” offered Victoria, win- 
ningly. “ It’s too tight just here, you see. I will ”ip open 
the seam and alter it. Who makes your dolly’s clothes ?” 

She was well aware that but one member of the family 
ever had leisure to bestow upon such follies ; but it suited 
l.er plan for Jeannie to introduce her name. 

“ Sister Sarah.” 

“ This is a pretty .^sque. When did she make it ?” 
esterday.” 

I thought perhaps she did it while you wei6 m 
try, and that the doll had fattened as much aa yoi 

la^ighed heartily. 


H U 8 K 8 « 


113 


“ Y ou had a nice time there, I suppose ?” pursued Vio 
oria. 

‘‘ I LTuess we did !” Her eves danced at the recollection. 

A splendid time ! I wish we lived at Aunt Sarah’s! Thcr^ 

n’t r(K)m for me to move in this narrow house.” 

“ Mr. Benson was there a day or two, was he not?” 

‘‘Yes, ma’am — a great many days! He took us all 
iround the country in Uncle Nathan’s carriage. I love him 
very dearly !” 

“ Did you ever go sailing with him ?” 

“Every evening, when it was clear, in a pretty row-boat. 
He used to take his guitar along, and sing for us. He sings 
beautifully ! Did you ever hear him ?” 

“ Oh, yes ! Did your sister always go boating with you ?” 

The spy, with all her hardihood, lowered her voice, and 
felt her face warm as she put this leading question. 

“ Yes, ma’am, always. Mr. Benson would not have gone 
without her, I guess.” 

“ Why do you guess so ?” 

The little girl smiled knowingly. “ Because — you won’t 
tell, will you?” 

“ Why no ! Of course I will not.” 

“ Charley said it was a secret, and that I mustn’t say 
any thing to sister or Mr. Benson about it, for they would 
be angry.” 

“ Who is Charley ?” 

“ Don’t you know? He is Aunt Sarah’s son. He is 
deaf and dumb ; but he showed me how to spell on mj 
lingers He is a nice boy — ” 

“ Yes , but what wa^- the secret ?” 

“ He said that Mr. Benson — cousin Phil. I call him when 1 
am talking to him — was sister’s beau ; and he would take 
me off with him when we went to drive or walk, because, 
you know, they might not like to have me hear what they 


114 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


were talking about. They used to talk, and talk and talk 
and sister had a great deal more to say, and looke d prettief 
than she does at home. I will tell you something else, if 
you won’t ever let anybody know it. I never told Aunt 
Sarah even, only Charley. Sister cried ever so long the 
eight after Cousin Phil, went away. She woke me up sob* 
bing ; but I made believe that I was asleep ; and in the 
morning her pillow was right wet. Charley said that all 
ladies that he had read about in his books did so when theii 
)eaux left them.” 

See here, my little lady !” said the dissembler, with a 
startling change of tone. “ You are altogether mistaken — 
you and Charley both ! Mr. Benson is going to marry your 
sister Lucy, and never was a beau of Sarah’s. Be very 
careful not to talk about Charley’s wicked story to your 
father, or mother, or sisters, for they would be very much 
displeased, and maybe punish you for repeating such fibs. 
Little girls ought never to hear or know any thing about 
courting or beaux — it’s naughty ! I won’t tell on you, if 
you will promise never to do so again. I am shocked at 
you ! Now take your dolly and go !” 

The frightened child encountered Lucy at the door. Miss 
West had calculated her time to a minute. Her eyes swim- 
ming in tears, her features convulsed with the effort to keep 
back sob and outcry, Jeannie started up to her attic play- 
room. Sarah’s door was ajar; and engaged as she was with 
thoughts of her own troubles and insults, she ccvild not but 
^emark the expression of her darling’s tace, in the momen- 
tary glimpse she had as it passed. 

J eannie ! come back !” she called. 

The child hesitated, half way up the next flight. Sarah 
fepeated the summons, and seeing that it was ^ot obeyed, 
went up and took the rebel by the hand. 

“ What is the matter with you ?” 


HUSKS. 


115 


A reddening and distortion of visage, and no reply. Her 
sister led her back to her chamber, shut the door, and put 
her arms around her. 

“ Tell me what ails you, dear ! 

Jeannie fell upon her comforter’s neck — the repressed 
torrent breaking through all restraint. “ Oh, sister, I can t 
help crying ! IMiss Vic. West has been scolding me ! ” 

“ Scolding you ! She ! I will go down and speak to her 
this instant ! How dared she ? ” 

No, no ! please don’t ! She told me not to say any- 
thing to you about it.” 

The contemptible coward ! ” said Sarah, between her 
teeth. “ How came you to have anything to do with 
her?” 

Mother and sister Lucy went down-stairs, and she said 
she would alter my doll’s basque, and — and — and ” a fresh 
burst of lamentation. 

‘‘ There, that will do, pet ! I see that she only made it 
worse ! ” soothed Sarah, believing that, in the unfinished 
state of dolly’s wardrobe, she had discovered the root of 
the trouble. Never mind, dear ! I will set all that to 
rights directly. Now wipe your eyes, and let me tell you 
something. This afternoon father is to take me to ride, 
and you shall go, too. As for Miss Victoria, we will let 
her pass, and keep out of her way, hereafter.” 

Secretly, she was very angry — far more so than she was 
•willing to have the child suspect. As the patient fingers 
repaired the effects of the original bad fit, and Miss West’s 
meddling, Jeannie stood by, thankful and interested, yet 
ashamed to look her wronged sister in the eyes. Not that 
she had the remotest conception of the mischief that might 
grow out of her imprudent disclosures ; but she had broken 
faith with Charley, been accused of tattling and indelicacy, 
and warned too stringently against repeating the offence ta 


IIG 


THE EMPTY H E A K 1 ; OK, 


suffer her to relieve her conscience by a full confession U 
the being she most loved and honored. 

At foul o'clock Sarah and her charge were ready, accord- 
ing to Ml*. Hunt’s appointment. The carriage was likewise 
punctual ; but from it ste|)ped, not the panmt of the expect 
ant girls, but a younger and taller man — in short, Mr. Hunt’s 
[)a]ticular favorite — Lewis Hammond. Jeannie, who had 
stationed herself at an u})per window to watch for hei 
father’s appearance, was still exclaiming over this disap- 
pointment, and wondering why “ Mr. Hammond must call 
just now to keep sister at home,” when the footman brought 
up a note to Sarah. 

It was from Mr. Hunt, explaining the cause of his un- 
looked-for detention at the bank, and stating that Mr. Ham- 
mond, whom he had met earlier in the day, and acquainted 
with his design of giving his daughter this ride, happened 
to drop in, and seeing him engaged with business, had asked 
leave to officiate as his substitute in the proposed airing. 
He urged Sarah to take Jeannie along, and not hesitate 
to accept Mr. Hammond’s polite attendance, adding, in 
phrase brief, but sincere, how lightly he should esteem his 
hour of extra labor, if he knew that she was not a sufferer 
by it. 

Sarah passed the note to her mother, and drew hor shawl 
about her shoulders. 

“Of course you’ll go!” said Mrs. Hunt, radiant with 
gi atification. “ It is perfectly proper, and Mr. Hammond is 
very kind, I’m sure.” 

She was hurrying towards the door to conv j in person 
her thanks for his gallantry, when Sarah spo.' e firmly and 
very coolly : 

“ 1 will say whatever is necessary to Mr. -lammond, if 
you please, mother. I shall go because father wishes it, and 
for no othsr reason. Come, Jeannie !” 


n ITS K 8. 


lit 


“ Won’t she be in your way ?” asked Mrs. Hunt, awed, 
but not extinguished. 

No, madam.” 

Sarah suffered Mr. Hammond to place her in the carriage, 
md himself opposite to her ; and keeping before her mind 
iarefully the lact that he was her father’s friend, perhaps 
the savior of his life, she unbent, as much as she could, 
I'rom her distant, ungracious bearing, to sustain her part of 
the conversation. She must have been purblind not to see 
through her mother’s wishes, and manoeuvres for their ac- 
complishment ; but to these views she was persuaded that 
Mr. Hammond was no party. She saw in him a sedate, 
rather reserved gentleman of thirty-two or three, who had 
passed the heyday of youthful loves and joys ; sensible and 
cultivated to an uncommon degree for a man of business — 
for such he emphatically was. 

A poor boy in the beginning, he had fortunately attracted 
the regard of a thriving New York merchant, and retained 
that favor through the years that had elevated him from the 
lowest clerkship to a partnership in the now opulent firm. 
For probity and punctuality no man in the city had a higher 
reputation ; but his virtues were of that quiet nature which, 
while they inevitably retain regard once won, are slow to 
gain admiration. To matrimonial speculators, as in financial 
circles, he was known as a ‘‘ safe chance,” and many a pru- 
dent mamma on his list of acquaintances would have rejoiced 
had he selected her daughter as mistress of his heart and 
fortune. Whether he was aware of this or not could not 
have been determined by his modest, but dignified deport 
ment. He did not avoid company ; went whither he was 
invited, and, when there, comported himself like a conscien 
tious member of society, talking, dancing, or listening, with 
as due regard to law and order as he manifested in his daily 
business life. Fast girls called him “ awfully matter-of-fact^’* 


118 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 

and terribly sensible ; ” fast youths of the other sex put 
him down among the ‘‘ old fogies,” and wondered what he 
did with his money. ‘‘Could it be possible that he saved 
it ! ” He was intimate nowhere except in the household of 
his whilom employer and present partner, whose daughters 
were all married and settled in houses of their own. If he 
had ever cared to look twice at the same lady, the watchful 
world had not yet laid hold of this marvellous departure 
from his fixed habits. 

His intercourse with Mi’. Hunt’s family was, as we know, 
purely accidental in its commencement, and in its eai’lier 
stages might have been induced by humanity or friendship 
for the sick father. In Sarah’s brain there had never arisen 
a suspicion of any ulterior motive in the pointed attentions 
directed of late to herself. Before Lucy’s return, the care 
of her invalid parent and her day-dreams had engrossed 
heart and thought to an extent that precluded much in- 
quiry into other themes. Since that memorable night, 
inward torture had abstracted her mind still more from 
outw^ard impressions. 

This afternoon she talked calmly and indifferently to Mr. 
Hammond, without an idea that he made any greater effort 
to please her. To Jeannie she was tender beyond her usual 
showing, in remembrance of the wrong done the sensitive 
child in the forenoon. Mr. Hammond emulated her in 
kindness to the third member of their party ; and in the 
course of their ride, raised himself unwittingly to the rank 
of rivalship with “ Cousin Philip,” her model gentleman. 

Mr. Hunt came out to assist his daughter to alight, upon 
their return. There was a heartiness in his acknowledg- 
ment of his deputy’s politeness, and invitation to enter the 
house and pass the evening with them, which Sarah had 
seldom heard him employ towards any visitor. Mr. Ham- 
mond may have remarked it likewise, for his declinature 


HUSKS. 


119 


was evidently against his inclination, and coupled with a 
promise to call at an early day. His visits were not alto- 
gether so agreeable as formerly, for he was received in th^ 
spacious parlors on a footing with other callers, and in tb* 
presence of several members of the family; still he cam^ 
epcatedly, with pretext and without, until his sentiments 
and design were a secret to no one except their object. 

Wrapped in the sad thoughts that isolated her from the 
rest of the world, even while she made a part of its show, 
Sarah omitted to mark many things that should have been 
significant signs of under-currents, and tokens of important 
issues to her and those about her. Lucy had ceased to 
harp perpetually upon her lover’s perfections and idolatrous 
flattery to herself, and while the wedding arrangements 
went vigorously forward, the disengaged sister was rarely 
annoyed by references to her taste and demands for her 
sympathy. There had never existed much congeniality 
between the two, and their common ground was now ex- 
ceedingly narrow. Lucy was gentle and pleasant, peace- 
fully egotistic as ever, and Sarah understood her too well 
to expect active affection or disinterestedness. The only 
part of her behavior to herself to which she took mental 
exception was a certain pitying forbearance, a compassionate 
leniency with respect to her faults and foibles, that had 
grown upon her of late. Once or twice the younger sister 
had become so restive under this gratuitous charity as to 
reply sharply to the whey-like speeches of the mild elder, 
and, without any appearance of wounded feeling, yet with 
not a w^ord of apology or reason for so doing, Lucy had 
left the apartment^ and never hinted at the circumstance 
afterwards. 

Lucy was certainly the soul, the very cream of amiabili- 
ty. It was unaccountable to her admirers — and they in 
eluded most of her associates — that Lewis Hammond, with 


120 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


his peculiar habits and tastes, should prefer that severe 
looking, strong-minded Sarah. But be it remembered that 
he had learned this love under far different influences ; in 
circumstances wholly unlike those in which he now beheld 
ts object. His respect for unobtrusive intent and feeling ; 
is longing for a home which should be the abode of sacred 
domestic virtues ; and the sweet peace that had fled from the 
habitations frequented only by the frivolous, heartless, and 
vain — these found in the sick-room of the father, and the 
affectionate fidelity of the daughter, something so like the 
embodiment of his fancy of earthly happiness, that he ac- 
cepted as a benignant fate the accident which had admitted 
him to the arcana of their private life. Sarah’s temporary 
illness had taught him the meaning of his dreams, by 
seeming to peril the chances of their fulfilment ; and from 
that hour he strove patiently and sedulously, as it was his 
habit, to seek all great ends for the acquisition of the heart 
whose depth he, perhaps, of all who knew her, best under 
stood. 

The most impatient person of those directly or indirect- 
ly concerned in the progress of this wooing was Mrs. Hunt. 
Her husband, with unwonted firmness, had forbidden that 
any one of the household should speak a word in raillery 
or otherwise to Sarah touching Mr. Hammond’s intentions. 
** However earnestly I may desire his success,” he said to 
his wife — and there is no man living whom I would rather 
call ‘son’ — I would not influence her by the weight of a 
single syllable. Hers is the happiness or the misery of a life 
with her husband — whomsoever she may choose, and hers 
shall be the entire choice. If she can iove and marry Lewis 
Hammond, I shall be gratified; if not, she shall never 
guess at my disappointment.” 

“ La, Mr. H. ! you are as foolish and sentimental as the 
girl herself! For my part, I ain’t such a saint, and I do say. 


U ir B K 8 . 


Ihmi if Sarah Hunt allows such a catch as thi« 
through her fingers, she shall hear a piece of my mind 

‘‘I insist,” said Mr. Hunt, with immovable resolution 
“ that Sarah shall be allowed to follow the guidance of bei 
own will in this matter. It is not often that I interfert 
with your plans; but in this one instance I must be 
obeyed!” 

With which astounding declaration of equal rights, if not 
of sovereignty, he left his consort to her reflections. 

Ignorant of the delicate watchfulness maintained over her 
by this best of friends, Sarah walked on her beclouded way 
— without hope, without one anticipation of any future dis- 
simila)* to her present, until awakened with a shock by » 
formal declaration of love from Lewis Hammond. 

9 


i22 


THE EMPTT HEART* OB, 


CHAPTER IX. 

It was at the close of an evening party which both thi 
Hunts attended, and where Mr. Hammond’s devotion waa 
as marked as any thing so modest could be, that Sarah feh 
him slip an envelope into her hand, as he put 4ier into the 
carriage. Surprised as she was at the singularity of the 
occurirnce, and disposed to take offence at the familiarity 
it implied, she had yet the presence of mind to conceal 
the missive from Lucy, and talk about other things, until 
they were set down at home. In the privacy of her 
chamber, she broke tie seal and read her first lovs-letter. 

It was a characteristic ceraposition. If the strong han^ 
had trembled above the lines, the clear, cle’^kly penman- 
ship did not witness to the weakness. Nor was there any 
thing in the subject-matter that did not appear to Sarah af 
business-like and unimpassioned. It was a frank and manly 
avowal of attachment for her ; a compliment implied, rathei 
than broadly stated, to her virtues; the traits that had 
gained his esteem, then his Icve — a deprecatory sentence as 
to his ability to deserve the treasure he dared to ask — and 
then the question I in plain black and white, unequivocal to 
bluntness, simple and direct to curtness. 

As he would ask the price of a bale of goods !” burst 
forth Sarah, indignant, as she threw the paper on the floor, 
and buried her burning face in her hands. 

“That there comes sometimes a glory to the Present^ 
beside which the hues of Past and Future fade and are 


HUSKS. 


123 


forgotten, I must and will believe. Such, it seems to me, 
must be the rapture of acknowledged and reciprocal aifec- 
tion !” This was the echo memory repeated to her soul. 
She saw again the gently gliding river, with its waves of 
crimson and gold ; breathed the pure fragrance of the sum 
mer evening ; floated on, towards the sunset, with the loved 
voice in her ear ; the dawn of a strange and beautiful life, 
shedding blissful calm throughout her being. 

And from this review, dangerous as it was, for one fleet- 
ing instant, sweet, she returned to the proposal that had 
amazed and angered her. Lewis’s undemonstrative exterior 
had misled her, as it did most persons, in the estimate oi 
his inner nature. Kind, she was compelled to confess that 
he was, in the remembrance of his goodness to her father ; 
his demeanor was always gentlemanly, and she had caught 
here and there rumors of his generosity to the needy that 
prevented a suspicion of sordidness. No doubt he was very 
well in his way; but he wanted to marry her/ With the 
intensity of her fiery spirit, her will arose against the pre- 
sumptuous request. It was the natural recoil of the woman 
who already loves, at the suggestion of a union with anoth- 
er than the man of her choice ; the spontaneous outspeaking 
of a heart whose allegiance vows have been pledged and 
cannot be nullified. But she would not see tnis. Upon 
the unfortunate letter and its writer descended the storm 
of passionate repugnance aro’^sed by its contents. With 
the reaction of excited feeling came tears — a plentiful show- 
ar that relaxed the overwrought nerves, until they were 
"eady to receive the benediction of sleep. 

Lewis bad not asked a written or verbal reply. 

‘‘I will call to take you to drive to-morrow afternoon,’’ 
he wrote. “ Should your decision upon the question I have 
proposed be favorable, your consent to accompany me in 


124 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


my ride will be understood as a signal that you hart 
accepted my graver suit. If your conclusion is adverse to 
my hopes, you can signify the same to me in a letter, to be 
handed me when I ask for you. This course will spare us 
both embarrassment — perhaps pain. In any event, be as 
j»ured that you will ever have a firm friend in 
‘‘Yours truly, 

“Lewis Hammond/* 

Sarah’s lip curled as she reperused this clause of the letter 
on the following morning. 

“ It is a comfort to know that I have not to answer for 
the sin of breaking my ardent suitor’s heart !” she said, as 
she drew towards her the sheet upon which she was to 
indite her refusal. It was brief and courteous — freezing in 
its punctilious civility, and prepared without a pang, or a 
solitary misgiving that its reception would not be philosoph- 
ically calm. Her design was to intrust it to the footman, 
tc< be delivered when Mr. Hammond called ; and as the 
hour approached at which the expectant was to present 
himself, she took the note from the desk, and started down- 
stairs with it. 

The sitting-room door was open, and, aware that Victoria 
VT est was in there with Lucy, Sarah trod very softly as she 
neared it. Her own name arrested her as she was going 
by. She stopped involuntarily. 

“ I thought Sarah a girl of better regulated mind,” said 
Victoria, in a tone of censorious pity. “Of course she 
suffers 1 It is the inevitable consequence of an unrequited 
attachment. Such miserable folly, such unpardonable weak- 
ness brings its punishment with it. But my sym])athies 
are all yours, my dearest. I only wish you were not so 
sensitive. You are not to blame for her blind mistake.” 

“ I cannot help it 1” said Lucy, plaintively. “ It seems so 


HITSKS. 


136 


•ad that I should be made the means of depriving her of 
happiness. I wish I had never known that she was attached 
to poor Philip. I can’t tell you how awkward I feel when 
any allusion is made in her hearing to the dear fellow, or to 
our marriage.” 

“I meant it for the best, dear, in telling you of my din 
covery,” replied Victoria, slightly hurt. 

I know that, my dear creature ! And it is well that I 
should not be kept in the dark as to the state of her aflfec- 
tions. I only hope that Philip never penetrated her secret. 
I should die of mortification for her, if he were to find it out. 
It is a lamentable affair — and I am sure that he is not in 
fault. What did you say that you gave for that set of 
handkerchiefs you showed me yesterday?” 

‘‘ The cheapest things you ever saw ! I got them at 
Stewart’s, and they averaged six dollars apiece! As to Mr. 
Benson, I trust, with you, that he is as unsuspecting as he 
seems; but he has remarkable discernment, you know. 
What I could not help seeing, befbre I had any other proof 
than her behavior, is not likely to have escaped him.” 

Half an hour later the twain were disturbed in their com 
fidences by the sound of wheels stopping before the house, 
followed by a ring at the door. Victoria, ever on the alert, 
peeped, with feline caution and curiosity, around the edge 
of the curtain. 

‘‘What is going to happen? Look, Lucy! Mr. Ham 
mond in a handsome light carriage, and driving a lovelj 
pair of horses! I never thought to see him go in sue;} 
style. How well he looks ! Take care ! he will see you !” 

Both dodged as he glanced at the upper windows ; but 
resumed their look-out in time to see the light that was 
kindled in his face when Sarah emerged from the front door. 
He was at her side in a second, to lead her down the steps, 
and his manner in this movement, and in assisting her into 


126 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 




the carriage, the more striking in one generally so self-con 
tained and deliberate, inspired the pair of initiated observers 
with the same conviction. As the spirited horses disap 
peared into the Avenue, the friends drew back from theii 
loo|>hole, and stared each other in the eyes, with the simul 
tiineous exclamation — “ They are engaged !” 

They were engaged ! Lewis felt it with a glad bound of 
the heart — but a minute before sickening in deadly suspense . 
felt, as he seated himself by her side, that the sorrows of a 
lonely and struggling youth, the years of manhood’s isola- 
tion and unsatisfied longings, were swept from memory by 
this hour of abundant, unalloyed happiness. 

And Sarah felt it ! As her hand touched his, at their 
meeting upon the steps, a chill ran through her frame that 
told the consummation of the sacrifice which was to atone 
for past folly ; to silence, and brand as a lying rumor, the 
fearful tale that bruited abroad the revelation of that weak 
ness. In her mad horror at the knowledge of its discovery, 
she had rushed upon this alternative. Better an estate of 
honorable misery, than to live on, solitary, disgraced, con- 
demned and pitied by her meanest foe ! Now that the irre- 
versible step was taken, she experienced no sharp regret, 
no wild impulse of retreat, but a gradual sinking of spirit 
into hopeless apathy. 

Her veil concealed her dull eyes and stolid features, and 
to Lewis’s happy mood there was nothing surprising or dis- 
couraging in her disposition to silence. With a tact for 
which she had not given him credit, and did not now value 
aright, he refrained from any direct reference to their altered 
relation until they were returning homeward. Then chang- 
ing his tone of pleasant chat for one of deeper meaning, hi 
said : — 

“I have dared to hope much — everything — from yoni 
consent to become my companion for this afternoon. Be 


H 7 S K 8. 


127 


fore I ventured to address you directly, I had a long and 
frank conversation with your father.” 

What did be say ?” asked Sarah, turning towards him 
for the first time. 

‘‘ He referred me to you for my answer, which, he said, 
must be final and positive, since he would never attempt to 
influence your choice. In the event of an affirmative reply 
from you, he promised that his sanction should not be with 
held.” 

Sarah was silent. She comprehended fully her father’s 
warm interest in his friend’s suit, which the speaker was too 
diffident to imply, and how this expression of his wishes set 
the seal upon her fate. 

“We are poor and proud ! Mr. Hammond is rich and 
seeks to marry me !” was her bitter thought. “ It is a fine 
bargain in the eyes of both my parents. It would be high 
treason in me to dispute their will. Mr. Hammond has 
conceived the notion that I am a useful domestic character, 
a good housekeeper and nurse, and he is willing to bid lib- 
erally for my services. It is all arranged between them ! 
Mine is a passive part, to copy Lucy’s sweet, submissive 
ways for a season, for fear of frightening away the game, 
afterwards to attend to my business, while he looks after 
his. I have chosen my lot, and I will abide by it !” 

“ Have I your permission to call this evening and inform 
your father of my success — may I say of our engagement ?” 
isked Lewis. 

“ It is best, I suppose, to call things by their right names,’' 
eplied Sarah, in a cold voice, that was to him only coy. He 
>miled, and was about to speak, Avhen she resumed : “ Since 
we are virtually engaged” — she caught her breath as she 
brought out the word — “ I see no reason why we should 
hesitate to announce it to those whose right it is to kno\i 
it.” 


128 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


‘‘Thank you ! That was spoken like the noble, unaffected 
woman you arel Will you always be equally sincere with 
me — Sarah His accent trembled with excess of emotion 
in calling the name. 

Is it, then, an easy lot that you have chosen, Sarah Hunt ^ 
You, whose pride and glory it was to be truthful, who 
spurned whatever assimilated in the least degree to decep 
tion, what think you of a life where a lie meets you on the 
threshold, and must be accepted and perpetuated, if you 
would preserve your name and position in his eyes and those 
of the world. “ It is the way two -thirds of the married 
people live !” you were saying to yourself, just now. It 
may be so ; but it is none the less a career of duplicity, per- 
jury — crime I 

“ I will endeavor to please you !” she faltered, her face 
in a flame of shame and confusion. 

And this was the hue that met Lewis’s eye, as her veil 
was blown aside, in her descent to the pavement, a blush he 
interpreted to suit his own wishes. Mr. Hunt appeared in 
the door-way as she alighted, and read in Hammond’s 
smile and joyous salutation all that he most desired to learn. 
When the door w^as closed upon the departing suitor, the 
father drew his best-beloved child to him, and kissed her, 
without a word of uttered blessing. 

“It would break his heart were I to recede now I” 
thought Sarah, as she bore hers — heavy, hard — up to her 
room. 

That evening was the proudest era of Mrs. Hunt’s exisl 
ence. Two daughters well engaged — unexcept ionablv 
paired offt What mother more blest than she? Wbert 
could be found other children so dutiful ? othe" sons-in-la\^ 
so acceptable? By breakfast time, next day, she had 
arranged every thing — Sarah’s trousseau, her house, and the 
double wedding. 


HUSKS. 


12S 


Lucy expostulated here. “ But, mother, this is the first 
of November.” 

“ I know that, my dear ; but the ceremony will not come 
off until Christmas, and much can be done in six weeks foi 
your sister — your work is so forward. Then, again, ’tisu’t 
as if Sarah couldn’t get every thing she needs riglit here, ii 
she shouldn’t have enough. It will be tremendously exj>eii 
sive — awful^ in fact ; but we must make sacrifices. We 
can live economical after you’re married and gone, and 
save enough to meet the bills.” 

‘‘ If you please, madam, I prefer a plain outfit, and no 
debts,” said Sarah’s most abrupt tones. 

“ If you please, my dear, I understand my affairs, and 
mean to do as I think proper,” retorted the no less strong 
willed mother. 

Sarah was not cowed. “ And as to the time you set, I 
cannot agree to it. I presume that in this matter I have 
some voice. I say six months instead of six weeks !” 

“Very well, my love.” Mrs. Hunt went on polishing a 
tumbler with her napkin. She always washed her silver 
and glass herself. “ You must settle that with your father 
and Mr. Hammond. They are crazy for this plan. They 
were talking to me about it last night, and I told them that 
I would engage to have every thing ready in time ; but you 
must be consulted. I never saw your father more set upon 
any thing. He said to me, private, that he did hope that 
you wouldn’t raise any squeamish objections, and upset their 
UTaugements.” 

Mrs. Hunt took up a handful of spoons as composedly M 
if she had never stretched her conscience in her life. 

Sarah’s head drooped upon the table. She was very, very 
miserable. In her morbid state of mind she did not dream 
of questioning the accuracy of her mother’s assertion. Tha/ 
A marriageable single daughter was a burden to one parent 


130 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


she knew but too well ; that to this able financier the pros 
pect of getting two out of the way, with the eclat of a 
iouble ceremony that should cost no more than Lucy’s 
auptials would have done, was a stupendous temptation, she 
ilso perceived. But that the father whom she so loved , 
whose sick-bed she had tended so faithfully ; whose lonely 
hours it was her province and delight to solace — that he 
should acquiesce — nay, more, rejoice in this indelicate haste 
to get rid of her, was a cruel stab. 

Very well,” she said, raising an ashy face. “ Let it be 
as you say. The sooner it is over, the better.” 

This clause was unheeded by her mother and sister. Had 
they heard it, they might have understood it as little as they 
did the composure with which she joined in the work which 
was begun, without an hour’s delay. In this trying junc- 
ture, Mrs. Hunt came out in all her strength. Her sewing- 
machine (she was one of the earliest purchasers of these in- 
estimable time, labor, and money savers) went night and 
day ; she shopped largely and judiciously, giving orders tc 
tradespeople with the air of a princess; “Jewed” her 
butcher ; watched her pantry, and served up poorer dinners 
than ever. Jeannie’s winter outfit was ingeniously contrived 
from her sisters’ cast-off wardrobe; Mr. Hunt’s and the 
boys’ shirts and socks were patched and darned until but a 
trifling quantity of the original material remained ; and this 
pearl of mothers had her two year-old cloak and last 
season’s hat “ done over” for this year’s wear. 

Foremost among the visitors to the Hunts, after this 
Latest engagement was made public, was Mrs. Marlow, the 
wife of Mr. Hammond’s benefactor and partner. Sarah was 
>ut when she called ; so Mrs. Hunt received her, and dis- 
covering very soon that, in spite of her husband’s wealth 
md her splendid establishment, she was not, as Mrs. Hunt 
tflirased it to her daughters, “ one mite proud, and thougfal 




ISi 

the world and all of Lewis” — the mother opened her heart 
to her so freely, with regard to the prospective weddings 
and her maternal anxieties, that Mrs. Marlow was em* 
boldened to introduce a subject which had taken hold of 
her thoughts so soon as she heard from Mr. Hammond of 
his expected marriage. 

She had a daughter, resident for the winter in Paris, 
whose taste in female attire was unquestionable, and her 
good-nature as praiseworthy. If Miss Sarah Hunt would 
prepare a memorandum of such articles as she would like 
to have selected in that emporium of fashion, she wonld 
promise, for her daughter, that they should be forwarded 
in time for “the occasion.” 

“ Some friends of mine, now abroad, have kindly offered 
to bring me over any quantity of fine dresses with their 
baggage,” said the complaisant old lady ; “ and, as I do not 
need their services for myself, I can smuggle in whatever 
your daughter may order. You would be surprised at the 
difierence in prices here and there — to say nothing of the 
superior excellence and variety of the assortment from 
which one can choose. My friends will return early in 
December. Therefore, should you like this arrange- 
ment, I ought to have the list and write my letters to- 
morrow.” 

Energetic, fussy, snobbish Mrs. Hunt ! She stood an inch 
taller in her shoes at the imagination of this climax to the 
glory of the dual ceremony. “ Trousseau ordered directly 
from Paris !” She seemed already to hear the envious and 
admiring buzz of her set; saw herself the most blessed of 
women — her daughters the brides of the season. She would 
order for Lucy, also ; for the longer the list the more im- 
portance would the future Mrs. Hammond acquire in the 
sight of her husband’s friends. They could not know that 
it was not for her alone. Then, as Mrs. Marlow intimate^ 


132 


THE EMPTY heart; OK 


^ would be a saving. Here, like a cold shower-bath, came 
ngonizing query — ‘‘ Where was the money to come 
: -in y” It would never do to run in debt to such people as 
.iM' lMarli3ws. If tliey were hard-pressed shopkeepers, who 

cded the money, it would be another thing. No! the 
,<li in hand, or its representative, must accompany the 
iiomorandum. 

Sarah was secretly pleased at this obstacle, for she 
despised the ostentation and extravagance going on in their 
hungry household. Strive as she did, with wicked perti- 
nacity, to conform herself to the world’s code, there was as 
yet too much of the ancient and better leaven left to permit 
more than an outward obedience to the dictates of customs 
so irrational and tyrannical. 

That very evening there arrived a letter that settled the 
question, and inflated Mrs. Hunt’s collapsed spirits to an 
expansion hitherto unequalled. It was from Aunt Sarah to 
her namesake niece ; a guileless, fervent expression of good 
wishes and unabated afiection, and a request from “ hus- 
band” and herself that she would accept the enclosure as a 
mark of that hopeful regard. 

“ Since our daughters died” — wrote this true and gentle 
mother — “ we have always intended to give you just exactly 
what we would have done one of them, as a wedding- 
present — as you were named for me, and I had nursed you 
before your mother ever did, and you seemed in some way 
to belong to us. But since you paid us a visit we have felt 
nearer to you than ever, and seeing that the Lord has pros- 
pered us in this world’s goods, we have made up our minds 
to give you a double portion, dear, what both of our girls 
would have had, if ‘it had pleased our Father to spare them 
to have homes of their own upon earth. Living is high in 
New York, but we have calculated that what we send wiU 
buy your wedding-clothes and furnish your house.” 


HITS R S. 


138 


The enclosed gift, to Sarah’s astouishmeul, was a check 
upon a city bank for a thousand dollars ! 

“ Was there ever such a child for luck?” exclaime'd Mrs. 
Hunt, clapping her hands. ‘‘ What a fortunate thing we 
sent you down there when we did ! That was one of my 
plans, you remember, Mr. H. Really, Lucy, our little Sarah 
understands how to play her cards, after all ! I never dia 
you justice, my dear daughter. I ain’t ashamed to confess 
it. This puts all straight, and is real handsome in sister 
Benson — more than I expected. Go to work right away 
upon your list, girls ! We’ll have to set up the best part of 
the night to get it ready. Ah, well ! this comes of putting 
one’s trust in Providence and going ahead !” 

Sarah thought, with aching heart and moistened eyes, of 
Aunt Sarah’s mind-pictures of the neat apparel and snug 
dwelling she deemed proper for a young couple just be^ 
ginning house-keeping, and rebelled at this waste, this frivo- 
lous expenditure of her love-portion. Mr. Hunt sided with 
her, SO far as to urge the propriety of her doing as she 
pleased with what w^as her exclusive property ; but, as ; j a 
majority of former altercations, their arguments and pov rrs 
of endurance were no match for the determination and n j jd 
of the real bead of the family. With a sigh of pain, dis- 
gust, and <fes^ \r, Mr. Hunt succumbed, and, de.-erte^ by 
her ally, Sarah contended but a short time longer ert she. 
yielded up the cause of the combat to the indomii ibie 
nctroM. 


134 


THE EMPTY HEART; 0» 


CHAPTER X 

The bridal day came ; frosty and clear, dazzlingly bright 
by reason of the reflection from the snow, which lay deep 
and firm upon the ground. 

“ What a delightful novelty this is, coming to a wedding 
in a sleigh !” lisped one of the triad of bridesmaids, who 
were to do double duty for the sisters. “ How very 
gay it makes one to hear the bells outside ! Have they 
come, Vic. ?” 

Victoria, whose marriage was but one week oflT, was, true to 
instinct and habit, on the lookout behind the friendly curtain. 

She nodded. “Yes — both of them, but not together. 
What a magnificent sleigh that is of the Marlows ! They 
brought Mr. Hammond. See the bridegrooms shake hands 
on the sidewalk ! That looks so sweet and brotherly ! They 
will b-c^ up here almost directly, I suppose.” 

The attendants immediately began to shake out their 
robes and stroke their white gloves. They were cohccted 
ill the sitting-room so often mentioned, and the sisters were 
also present. In accordance with the riiicu ous custom of 
very parvenu modern marriages, although the ceremony wai 
to take place precisely at twelve o’clock, daylight was care- 
fully excluded from the parlors below, gas made its sickly 
substitute, and the whole company was in full evening 
costume. 

“ Am I all right ?” inquired Lucy, with a cautious wave 
of her flowing veil. “Look at me, Vic.!” 

You are perfect, my dearest!” replied the devoted para- 


HTJSK8. 


135 


rite. “ How I admire your beautiful self-possession ! And 
as for you, Sarah, your calmness is wonderful I I fear that 
I should be terribly agitated” — blushing, and castmg a 
meaning smile at Lucy. 

Sarah’s statuesque repose was broken by a ray of scorn 
from the eye, and a slight disdainful smile. Whatever were 
the feelings working beneath her marble mask, she was not 
yet reduced to the depth of wretchedness that would 
humble her to accept the insolent pity couched under the 
pretended praise. She vouchsafed no other reply ; but re- 
mained standing a little apart from the rest ; her gloved 
hands crossed carelessly before her ; her ^ gaze bent down- 
wards ; her whole posture that of one who neither waited, 
nor hoped, nor feared. 

“ Who would have thought that she could be made such 
an elegant-looking woman ?” whispered, one of the bride- 
maids aside to another. 

“ She has actually a high-bred air ! I never imagined it 
was in her. So much for a Parisian toilette !” 

“ I am so much afraid that I shall lose my color when we 
enter the room,” said Lucy, surveying her pink cheeks in 
the mirror. “ They say it is so trying to the nerves, and I 
am odious when I am pale.” 

‘‘Never fear, my sweetest. It is more likely that the un- 
avoidable excitement will improve your complexion. There 
ihey are !” returned Victoria, hurriedly, and — unconsciously, 
no doubt — the three attendants and one of the principals in 
the forthcoming transaction, “ struck an attitude,” as tlie 
sound of footsteps approached the door. 

Lucy had only time for a whisper — a last injunction — to 
her faithful crony. “ Remember to see that my veil and 
dress hang right when we get down-stairs.” And the mas- 
culino portion of the procession marched in in order. 

Sarah did not look up. She bent her head as the fornw^^ 


136 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB 


exchange of saintations was executed, and yielded her hand 
to the person who took it in his warm pressure, and then 
transferred it to his arm. It was one of the freaks, thus de- 
nominated by her acquaintances, in which she had been in 
dulged, that she desired to have her marriage ceremony pre^ 
cede her sister’s. She assigned what Lucy at least consid- 
ered a sufficient reason for this caprice. 

. Nobody will care to look at me after you stand aside, 
Lucy. Keep the best wine until the last. My only chance 
of getting an approving glance lies in going in before you 
attract and fix the public gaze.” 

She had her way. A limited number of select friends 
were admitted to behold the ceremony yet the parlors 
were comfortably filled, excepting in the magical semicircle 
described by an invisible line, in the centre of which stood 
the clergyman in his robes. 

Still dull and calm, Sarah went through the brief role that 
fell to her share. “ Behaved charmingly,” was the unani- 
mous verdict of the beholders, and surprised other people, as 
well as the complimentary bridemaid, by her thorough-bred 
air and Parisian toilet. Without the pause of a second, so 
perfect was the drill of the performers, the wedded pair 
stepped aside, and made way for the second happy couple. 
Lucy’s solicitude on the score of her complexion was needless. 
As the solemn words were commenced, a rosy blush flickered 
np to its appointed resting-place — another and another — until, 
when Philip released her to the congratulatory throng, she 
was the most enchanting type of a radiant Hebe that poet 
ever sang, or painter burned to immortalize on canvas. 

Philip stood beside her and sustained his portion of the 
hand-shaking and felicitations until the press diminished, 
then stepped hastily over to where Hammond and his bride 
were undergoing a similar martyrdom. Until this moment 
Sarah had not looked at, or spoken to him — ^had never me< 


HUSKS. 


187 


him face to face since their parting in the summer at Aunt 
Sarah’s. Now, not aware who it was that approached her 
she raised her eyes with the serious dignity with which she 
had received all other salutations, and met his downward 
gaze — ^full of warm and honest feeling. 

Sister !” he said, and in brotherly fondness he bent to^ 
wards her, and left a kiss upon her mouth. 

A ‘hot glow, the lurid red of offended modesty or self-con- 
victed guilt, overspread her face ; the lips parted, quivered, 
and closed tightly, after an ineffectual effort to articulate ; the 
room swam around her, and Mr. Hammond caught her just 
in time to save her from falling. It was Nature’s vengeful 
reaction tor the long and unnatural strain upon her energies. 
She did not faint entirely away, although several moments 
elapsed before she regained perfect consciousness of her sit- 
uation and surrounding objects. She had been placed in an 
easy-chair; her head rested against her father’s shoulder, 
and on the other side stood Lewis, almost as pale as herself, 
holding a glass of wine to her lips. Around her were 
grouped her mother, Lucy, and Philip. The guests had 
withdrawn politely to the background, and maintained a re- 
spectful silence. 

What have I betrayed ?” was her first coherent reflec- 
tion ; and, with an instinctive perception of the quarter 
where such disclosures would do most harm, her eye turned 
with a sort of appealing terror to Lewis. His heart leaped 
at the movement, revealing, as he fancied it did, dependence 
upon his strength, recognition of his right to be with and 
nearest to her. 

‘‘ You are better,” he said, with a moved tenderness he 
could not and cared not to restrain. 

Tlie words, the manner, were an inexpressible relief to hei 
fears, and trying to return his smile, she would have arisen 
but for her father’s interposition. 


138 


THE EMPTY HEART; OE, 


‘‘ Sit still,” he advised. ‘‘ Mrs. Hunt, Lucy, Mr. Benson, 
will you entertain our friends ? She will be all right in a 
little while, Mr. Hammond.” 

‘‘ Tableaux vivants P"* said Lucy’s soft, rich voice, as she 
advanced towards the reassured guests. ‘‘ This is a part ol 
the pei-formance not set down in the programme. Quite 
theatrical, was it not ?” 

It is very possible that Philip Benson would not have re- 
garded this as an apropos or refined witticism, had any one 
else been the speaker ; but as the round, liquid tones rolled 
it forth, and her delicious laugh led off the instant revival o( 
mirth and badinage, he marvelled at her consummate tact, hei 
happy play of fancy (!), and returned devout thanks to the 
stars that had bestowed upon him this prodigy of grace, wit, 
and beauty. Sarah rallied speedily ; and, contrary to the 
advice of her father and husband, maintained her post in 
the drawing-room during all the reception, which contin- 
ued from half-past twelve to half-past two. 

It was a gay and shifting scene — a sparkling, murmuring 
tide, that ebbed and flowed to and from the quartette who 
formed the attractive power. Silks, laces, velvets, furs, and 
diamonds; faces young, old, and middle-aged; handsome, 
fair, and homely ; all d<^cked in the same conventional holi- 
day smile ; bodies tall and short, executing every variety of 
bow and courtesy ; voices sweet, sharp, and guttural, utter- 
ing the senseless formula of congratulation — these were 
Sarah’s impressions of the tedious ceremonial. Restored to 
her rigid composure, she too bowed and spoke the word or 
sentence custom exacted — an emotionless automaton in 
seeming, while Lucy’s matchless inflections lent interest and 
beauty to the like nothings, as she rehearsed them in her 
turn ; and Philip Benson, having no solicitude for his bride’s 
health or ability to endure the fatigue, was collected enough 
to compare the two, and, while exulting in his selection, to 


HUSKS. 


139 


commiserate the proprietor of the colder and less gifted 
sister. 

At last the trial was over ; the hospitable mansion was 
closed ; the parlors deserted ; the preparations for travelling 
hurried through ; and the daughters went forth from their 
girlhood’s home. Philip had cordially invited Sarah am 
Lewis, by letter, to accompany Lucy and himself to Georgia 
but Sarah would not hear of it, and Lewis, while he left the 
decision to her, was not sorry that she preferred to jour- 
ney instead with him alone. It was too cold to go north 
ward, and the Hammonds now proposed to proceed with 
the others as far as Baltimore, there to diverge upon a 
Western and Southern tour, which was to occupy three 
weeks, perhaps four. 


THE EMPTY HEAKT; OR, 


UO 


CHAPTER XI. 

DuRiN<j iLe month preceding hinj marriage, Lewis Ham 
mend had spent much time and many thoughts in providiiig 
and furnishing a house for his wife. His coadjutor in this 
labor of love was not, as one might have expected, Mrs. Hunt, 
but his early friend, Mrs. Marlow. His omission of his fu- 
ture mother-in-law, in his committee of consultation, he ex- 
plained to her by representing the number of duties already 
pressing upon her, and his unwillingness to add aught to 
their weight. But when both girls were married and gone, 
and the work of getting to rights” was all over, this inde- 
fatigable woman paid Mrs. Marlow a visit, and offered her 
assistance in completing the arrangements for the young 
housekeepers. 

“There is nothing for us to do,” said Mrs. Marlow. 
“ Lewis attended to the purchase of every thing before leav- 
ing ; and the orders are all in the hands of a competent 
upholsterer whom he has employed, as is also the key of the 
house. I offered to have the house-cleaning done, but 
Lewis refused to let me help him even in this. He is very 
methodical, and rather strict in some of his ideas. When 
the premises are pronounced ready for the occupancy of the 
future residents, you and I will play inspectors, and find as 
much fault as we can.” 

Mrs. Hunt went around by the house on her way homo 
It was new and handsome, a brown stone front, with stone 
balconies and balustrades ; but three stories higj;i, it was 
true, yet of ample width and pitch of ceiling, and — as she 


a gsKB. 


141 


discovered by skirting square — at least three rooms deej 
all tl>^ way up. The location was unobjectionable; not 
more than four blocks fi'om the paternal residence, and in a 
wider street. On the whole, she had no fault to find, pro- 
Tided Mr. Hammond had furnished it in such style as she 
would have recommended. She had her fears lest his sober 
taste in other respects should extend to these matters, and 
hinted something of the kind to her husband. 

‘‘ I have confidence in Mr. Hammond to believe that ha 
will allow his wife every indulgeno<5 compatible with his 
means,” was the reply. 

Mr. Hunt did not deem it obligatory upon him to state that 
his son-in-law had conferred with him upon numerous ques 
tions pertaining to Sarah’s likes and probable wishes ; that he 
had examined and approved of the entire conection of furni- 
ture, etc., selected for her use. Why should ho, how could 
he, without engendering in his wife’s bosom the suspicion 
that had accounted to him for Lewis’s choice of the father 
as an adviser? namely, that the newly-made husband had 
gained a pretty correct estimate of this managing lady’s 
character, her penny-wise and pound-foolish policy, and in- 
tended to inaugurate altogether a difierent one in his boi.se^ 

Regardless of Mrs. Marlow’s polite insinuation that their 
room w^as preferable to their company until all things should 
be in readiness for inspection, the ambitious mother made 
sundry visits to the premises while they were being fitte^^ 
up, and delivered herself of divers suggestions and reconf 
meudations, which fell like sand on a rock upon the presid 
ing man of business. 

On the day appointed for the tourists’ return, Mrs. Mar 
low’s carriage drew up at Mr. Hunt’s door, by appointment 
to take the mistress of the house upon the proposed visit ol 
criticism of her daughter’s establishment. Mrs. Marlow 
was in a sunny mood, and indisposed to censure, as was 


142 


THE EMPTY HEAET; OR, 


evinced by ejaculations of pleasure at the general effect of 
each apartment as they entered, and praise of its component 
parts. Mrs. Hunt was not so undiscriminating. The mU* 
lionnaire’s wife must not imagine that she was dazzled by 
»ny show of elegance, or that she was overjoyed at the 
prospect of her child’s having so beautiful and commodiou 
a home. 

“ The everlasting oak and green !” she uttered, as they 
reached the dining-room. It is a pity Mr. Hammond did 
not select walnut and crimson instead ! Green is very un- 
becoming to Sarah.” 

“ Then we must impress upon her the importance of cul- 
tivating healthy roses in her cheeks, and wearing bright 
warm colors. This combination — green and oak — is pretty 
and serviceable, I think. The table is very neatly set, 
Mary,” continued Mrs. Marlow, kindly, to the tidy serving- 
maid. Keep an eye on the silver, my good girl, until your 
mistress comes. Mrs. Hunt, shall we peep into the china- 
closets before we go to the kitchen? I have taken the 
liberty, at Lewis’s request, of offering to your daughter the 
services of a couple of my protegees^ excellent servants, 
who lived for years with one. of my own children — Mrs. 
Morland, now in Paris. They are honest, willing, and, I 
think, competent. The man-servant, if Lewis sees fit to 
keep one, he must procure himself.” 

The china, glass, and pantries were in capital order, 
the kitchen well stocked, light, and clean, and dinner over 
the fire. 

“ You will be punctual to the minute, Katy, please 1” was 
the warning here. “Mr, Hammond is particular in the 
matter of time.” 

“ And you will see that my daughter has a cup of clear, 
strong coffee!” ordered Mrs. Hunt, magisterially. “She is 
delicate, and accustomed to the very best of cookery.* 


HTJBK8. 


143 


And, having demonstrated her importance and superior 
housewifery to the round-eyed cook, she swept out. 

To an unprejudiced eye, the whole establishment was 
without a flaw ; and, undisturbed by the captious objections 
of her companion in the survey, Mrs. Marlow saw and 
judged for herself, and carried home with her a most pleas- 
ing imagination of Lewis’s gratification, and Sarah’s de- 
lighted surprise with the scene that was to close their day 
of cold and weariness. 

By Mr. Hammond’s expressed desire to his father-in-lnw, 
there was no one except the domestics in the house when 
they arrived. As the carriage stopped, the listening maid 
opened the door, and a stream of radiance shot into the 
misty night across the wet pavement upon the two figures 
that stepped from the conveyance. 

“ In happy homes he sees the light.” The mental quota 
tion brought back to Sarah the vision of that lonely evening, 
ten months before, when she had moaned it in her dreary 
twilight musings at the window of her little room, 
“Dreary then, hopeless now!” and with this voiceless sigh, 
she crossed the threshold of her destined abode. With a 
kindly greeting to the servants in the hall, Lewis hurried 
his wife onward, past the parlor doors, into a library sitting- 
room, back of the show apartments, warm and bright, 
smiling a very home welcome. 

Here he placed her in a deep cushioned chair, and, pres»» 
ing her hands in his, kissed her, with a heartfelt — “ May 
you be very happy in our home^ dear wife !” 

“Thank you!” she replied. “It is pleasant here, and 
you are too kind.” 

“ That is impossible where you are concerned. Sit here, 
while I see to the trunks. When they are carried up- 
stairs, you can go to your room. Throw oflT your bat and 
cloak.*^ 


144 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


ITe was very thoughtful of her comfort — too thcaghtftd^ 
because his love made him watchful of her every look, 
word, and gesture. She was glad of the brief respite fioir 
vliis vigilance, that allowed her to bury her face in her handA 
f’d groan aloud. She had no heart to look around hoi 
ige. No doubt it was luxurious; the bars softly and 
.ichly lined; the various arrangements the best of theii 
kind; still, it was nothing but a cage — a prison, from whicl 
death only could release her. 

The trim maid came for her wrappings, and directly 
afterwards Lewis, to take her up-stairs. 

“Not a very elaborate toilet, dear,” he said, as he left 
her for his dressing-room. “ Y ou will see no one this even- 
ing but our father and mother, and they will remember 
that you have been travelling all day ” 

When she was ready, it lacked still a quarter of an hour 
of dinner-time, and she acceded to Lewis’s proposal that 
they should go over their dwelling. By his order, there 
were lights in every room. The graceful furniture, the 
well-contrasted hues of the soft carpets, the curtains and 
pictures showed to fine advantage. Every thing was in 
place, from cellar to attic ; not a symptom of parsimony oi 
c}iea])ness in the whole; and all betokened, besides excellent 
judgment, such conformity to, or unison with her taste, 
hat Sarah, with all her heaviness of heart, was pleased, 
•^he was touched too with gratitude or remorse ; for, when 
iliey were back m the cozy sitting-room, she laid her hand 
Uinhlly on that of her husband, and said, falteringly: 

“ I do not deserve that you should take so much pains to 
gratify me, Mr. Hammond.’*’ 

Over Lewis’s face there flushed one of the rare smiles 
that made him positively handsome while they lasted. He 
grasped the shrinking fingers firmly, and drew his wife 
close to his side. 


H C S KS . 


145 


“ Shall I tell yon how to repay me for all that I have 
done, or ever can do, to promote your ease and enjoy- 
ment?” 

“If you please.” But her heart sank, as she foresaw 
dome demands upon a love that had never existed — a treas 
uy that, to him, was sealed and empty; yet whose pov- 
jrty she dared not avow. 

“Call me ‘Lewis,’ now that we are at home, dear. I 
cannot realize that you are indeed all mine — that our lives 
are one and the same, while you continue that very proper 
‘Mr. Hammond.’ ” 

“It comes more naturally to my tongue, and don’t you 
think it more respectful than — than — the other?” 

“ I ask no such form of respect from you. I do not fear 
test you should fail to ‘ honor and obey’ me, you little 
paragon of duty! Believe me, dearest, I fully understand 
and reverence the modest reserve, that has not yet ceased 
to be shyness, in the expression of your sentiments towards 
me. You are not demonstrative by nature. Neither am I. 
But since you are my other self, and there is no living being 
nearer to you than myself, ought we not to overcome this 
propensity to, or custom of, locking up our feelings in our 
own breasts? Let me begin by a confession of one un- 
comfortable complaint, under which I have labored ever 
since our engagement. Do you know, darling, that I abso- 
lutel}' hunger — I cannot give any other name to the long- 
ing — [ hunger and thirst to hear you say that you love 
me ! Do you i emember that you have never :old me in so 
many words what you have given me other good reasons 
for believing ? I need but one thing this evening to fill my 
cup with purest content. It is to have you say — openly, 
fearlessly, as my wife has a right to do — ‘Lewis, I love 
vou 1’ ” 

“ It need be a source of no unhappiness to be married to 

7 


146 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


a man whom one does not love, provided he is kind and 
generous !” say match-makers and worldly-wise mothers. 
Perhaps not, after one’s conscience is seared into callosity 
by perjuries, and her forehead grown bold as brass ; but 
the neophyte in the laudable work of adaptation to such cir 
umstances will trip in her words and color awkwardly 
^ hile acquiring this enviable hardihood. 

Sarah’s head fell, and her face was stained with blushes 
One wild impulse was to throw herself at the feet of him 
whom she had wronged so foully, and, confessing her mad, 
wicked deception upon his holiest feelings, pray him to send 
her away — to cast her adrift, and rid himself of a curse, 
while he freed her from the gentle, yet intolerable bondage 
of his love. 

“ Dinner is ready !” announced the servant. Sarah’s 
senses returned, and with them self-control. With a strange 
smile, she glanced up at him — a look he did not under- 
stand, yet could not guess was born of anguish — and said, 
with a hesitation that seemed pretty and coquettish to 
him — Lewis I do you hear ? May it please your worship 
I am very hungry !” 

Tease ! I will have my revenge yet ! See if I d( 
not !” 

Laughing lightly, she eluded his outstret^^hed arm, and 
sprang past him into the hall leading to the dining-room. 
She assumed the seat at the head of the table with a burlesque 
of dignity, and throughout the meal was more talkative 
and frolicsome than he had ever seen her before. So cap- 
tivated was he by her lively discourse and bright looks, 
that he was sorry to hear the ring, proclaiming the coming 
of the expected visitors. The dessert had not been re- 
moved, and the girl was instructed to show them imme- 
diately into the dining-room. 

A toast was drunk to the prosperity of the lately 


u s e: 8 . 


14 ? 


tablished houseLold, and the gentlemeu went off to the 
libraiy. 

“Always see to putting away your silver, Sarah! ' coun- 
selled the mother. “ And you had ought to get a common 
set of dinner and breakfast things. This china is too nice 
for every-day use. Of course, Mr. Hammond can afford to 
get more when this is broken ; but it’s a first-rate rule, child, 
as you’ll find, to put your money where it toill show most 
That’s the secret of my management. Mr. Hammond must 
give you an allowance for housekeeping and pin-money. 
Speak to him about it right away. Men* are more liberal 
while the honeymoon lasts than they ever are afterwards. 
Strike while the iron is hot. You can’t complain of your 
husband, so far. He has set you up very handsome. If I 
had been consulted about furnishing, I would have saved 
enough off of those third-story chambers and the kitchen to 
buy another pair of mirrors for your parlors. The mantels 
has a bare look. I noticed it directly I went in. To be 
sure, the Parian ornaments are pretty and tasty, and expen- 
sive enough — dear knows ! but they don’t make much of a 
display.” 

“ I do not like the fashion of lining walls with mirrors,” 
said Sarah, in her old, short way ; “ and am satisfied with 
the house as it is. Shall we join the gentlemen ?” 

Nothing had ever showed her mo4*e plainly the degrada- 
tion of her false position than the confident air her mother 
wore in making her coarse observations, and instructing her 
as to the method of managing her generous, confiding hus- 
band. It was the free-masonry of a mercenary wife, whose 
spouse would have been better represented to her mind b) 
his money-bag than his own proper person, towards another 
cC the same craft, who rated her lawful oaiiker by 
sponding ru'es. 

“ Will J then really grow to be like her and her atiMOoi 


148 


THE EMPTY HEART; O*, 


ates ?” Sarah qu«?siioned inly. ‘‘Will a fine house and iU 
fixtures, will dress and equipage and pin money so increase 
in importance as to fill this aching vacuum in my heart ? 
Will a position in life, and the envy of my neighbors, make 
up to me for the loss of the love of which I used to dream, 
the happiness which the world owes me yet? Is this the 
coin in which it would redeem its promises ?” 

Mr. Hunt’s mild features wore their happiest expression 
this evening. He arose at the ladies’ entrance, and beckon 
•id his daughter to a seat on the sofa beside him, 

“You are a little travel-worn!” he said. “Your cheeks 
are not very ruddy.” 

Did you ever see them when they were ?” asked Sarah 
playfully. 

“ She was always just that pale when she was a baby,” 
said Mis. Hunt, setting herself in the arm-chair proffered by 
hi\r son-in law. “ Lucy stole all the roses from her.” Sarah 
may have tl.\oaght that other and more grievous thefts had 
succeeded this doubtful one, but she neither locked nor said 
this. “And that reminds me, Mr. H. ! Did you bring 
Lucy’s letter for Sarah to read ?” 

“I did.” Mr. Hunt produced it. “Keep it, and read it 
at your leisure, Sarah.” 

“ They are supremely happy, I suppose ?” remarked Lewis, 
with the benevolent interest incident to his fellowship of 
feeling with them. 

“For all the world like two turtle-doves!” Mrs. Hunt 
rejoined. “ Their letters are a curiosity. It is ‘ Phil.’ am] 
‘ Lucy’ from one end to the other. I mean to save them to 
show to them five years from now. Hot love is soon cool, 
and by and by they will settle down as sensible as any of 
the rest of us. You don’t begin so, I see, Sarah, and I am 
pleased at it. Between me and you, it’s two-thirds of it 
humbug! There is Victoria West that was! She looks 


HUSKS. 


US 


ready, in company, to eat uf that .ean monkey of a George 
Bond. I don’t believe but she shows him the other side of 
the pictures in private.” 

Sarah heard her father’s suppressed sigh, and felt, wit!iOui 
looking up, that her husband’s eyes sought hers wistfully 
The unobservant dame pursued her free and easy discourse 
Ml*. Hammond was one of the family” now, and there wa? 
no more occasion for choice grammar or fine sentiments 
before him. 

“Not that I blame Victoria for taking him. He was a 
good oflfer, and she wasn’t much admired by the gentle- 
men — rich as Mr. West is. Mr. Bond is twenty-five years 
older than she is, and wears false teeth and a toupee ; but I 
suppose she is willing to overlook trifles. She watches out 
for the main chance, and will help him take care of his 
money, as well as spend it. Vic. is a prudent girl.” 

“Lucy — Mrs. Benson — was at home when she wrote, was 
she not ?” interrogated Mr. Hammond. 

“ Yes, at his father’s. His mother keeps house, and Lucy 
has nothing to do but ride, visit, and entertain company, 
She says the house is crowded the whole time, and she has 
so many beaux that Philip stands no chance of speaking a 
word to her. She is perfectly happy.” 

Notwithstanding the various feelings of the listeners, none 
of them could resist this picture of a felicitous honeymoon, 
so naively spoken. Lewis’s laugh cleared the vapors from 
his brow, and the pain at Sarah’s heart did not hinder her 
from joining in. 

“ And the ousted bridegroom, perforce, seeks consolation 
in the society of his fair friends ?” said Lewis. “If this is 
the way young married peojde show the love-sickness you 
complained of just now, Mrs. Hunt, I am content with out 
more staid ways--eh, Sarah ?” 

‘‘ Quiet ways suit me best,” was the answer. 


150 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


“‘Still water runs deep,’” quoted Mr®. Hunt. “I used 
to worry over your stay-at-home habits and eternal bludy 
of books, Sarah ; but I’m ready to say now that you was 
sensible to behave as you did, as it has turned out. I don’t 
mean to flatter Mr. Hammond, but I’d ten times rathei 
you had taken him than a dried-up widower like Geori^c* 
Bond.” 

“ Thank you !” bowed Lewis, desirous of diverting atten- 
tion from Sarah’s growing uneasiness beneath her mother’s 
congratulations. 

Mrs. Hunt held on her way. “I never had a fear lest 
Lucy shouldn’t marry w^ell. She was pretty and attractive, 
and knew too much about the world to throw herself away 
for the sake of love in a cottage. But now the danger is 
over, I will allow that I used to mistrust Sarah here some- 
times. You was just queer enough to fall in love wdth some 
adventurer with a foreign name, and never a cent in his 
pocket — yes, and marry him, too, in spite of all that could 
be said and done to prevent it. I was forever in a ‘ feaze’ 
about you ; fancying that you was born to make an out-and- 
out love-match — the silliest thing a girl can do, in my 
opinion.” 

“You never dreamed of her ‘taking up,’ as the phrase is, 
with a humdrum individual like myself,” said Lewis. “ Nor, 
to be candid, did I, for a long time, Mrs. Hunt. Yet I can- 
not say that I regret her action, disadvantageous to herself 
though it was. I wrote to you of our visit to New Orleans, 
did I not, sir ?” he continued to Mr. Hunt, inwardly a little 
disgusted by the frank revelations his mamma-in-law was 
making of her principles and plans. 

The subject so interesting to most wedded people, so em- 
barrassing to one of the present party, was not again intro- 
duced during the elder couple’s stay. When Lewis returned 
to the library, after seeing them out, Sarah sat where he 


HTJSS8. 


151 


had left her, her hand shading her eyes — deep in thought, 
or Overcome by weariness. 

“ Yon had better go up to your room, dear,” said Lewia. 
“ I wonder you are not worn out completely.” 

She arose to obey ; walked as far as the door, then came 
back to him. 

“ It may appear strange to you that I should speak openly 
)f such a suspicion ; but I must beg you not to suppose for 
xn instant that in my acceptance of your offer of marriage, 
I was actuated by mercenary motives. You look sur* 
prised” — she hurried on yet faster while her resolution 
lasted — ‘‘ but I could not rest without doing myself this act 
ff justice. Much that mother said to-night might — must 
xiave led you to this conclusion. I would not have you 
^hink worse of me than I deserve, and of this one act of 
baseness I am innocent.” 

‘‘ My precious little wife, how excited you are ! and over 
ivhat a nonsensical imagination ! Suspect you — the noblest 
4 S well as the dearest of women — of selling yourself, body 
and soul, for money? Listen to speech now, dear 
Harah !” 

He sat down and pulled her to his knee. “ I esteem you, 
<is I love you, above all the rest of your sex — above any 
other created mortal. I know you to be a pure, high-minded 
s/'oman. When I part with this persuasion, may I part also 
^th the life that doubt on this point would render wretch* 
ed ! Judge, then, whether it be possible for me to unk this 
t oly realization of womanhood with the thought of another 
.character, which 1 will describe. I hold that she wht 
enters the hallowed state of wedlock through motives of 
pecuniary interest, or ambition, or convenience — ^indeed, 
through any consideration save that of love, single and 
entire, for him to whom she pledges her vows, stands, in the 
sight of her Maker and the angels, on a level with the most 


152 


THE EMPTY HEART; OH, 


abandoned outcast that pollutes the earth she treads, 1 
shock you, I see ; but on this subject I feel strongly. 1 
have seen much, too much, of fashionable marriages formed 
for worldly aggrandizement — for riches ; sometimes in pique 
at having lost a coveted lover. With my peculiar senti- 
ments, I feel that I could endure no heavier curse than to 
contract an alliance like any of these. I repeat it, I believe 
in Woman as God made her and intended she should live, 
if for no other reason than because I recollect my mother, 
boy M I was when she died ; and because I know and hare 
you, my true, blessed wife I” 


HUSKS. 


CHAPTER XIL 

A YEAR and five months had passed away since the ev tun- 
ing when Lewis Hammond held his conscience-stricken wife 
upon his knee, and told her — in fervid words that gingularly 
belied his calm and even demeanor at other times — of his 
faith in and love for her, and his abhorrence of the sin she 
felt in her trembling soul that she had committed. Yet she 
had not the superhuman courage required to contradict a 
trust like this. There was no alternative but to keep up the 
weary, wicked mockery unto the end. 

“ But in all these months she must have learned to care 
for him !” cries Mrs. Common Sense. “ There is nothing 
disagreeable about the man. He is not brilliant ; yet he has 
intelligence and feeling, and is certainly attached to his wife. 
I have no doubt but that he indulges her in every reason a- 
ble request, and comports himself in all respects like an ex 
emplary husband.” 

Granted, to each and every head of your description, my 
dear madam ! But, for all that, his obdurate wife had not 
come to l0ve him. I blush to say it ; but while we are strip* 
ping hearts let us not be squeamish ! There had been sea- 
sons, lasting sometimes for weeks, when her existence was 
a continual warfare between repugnance to him and her 
sense of duty ; when she dreaded to hear his step in the 
ball, and shrank inwardly from his caress ; watched and 
fought, until strength and mind were well-nigh gone. Mark 
me , I do not deny that this was as irrational as it was rejp 


154 


THE EMPTY HEART; OK 


rehensible ; but I have never held up my poor Sarah as a 
model of reason or propriety. From the beginning, 1 have 
made her case a warning. The fates forbid that I should 
commend it to any as an example for imitation ! A passion- 
ate, proud, reticent girl ; a trusting, lovinjr, deceived woman 
a hopeless, desperate bride — whose heart lay like a pulseiefei 
stone in her breast at the most ardent love-words of her 
husband, and throbbed with wild, uncontrollable emotion 
at the fraternal tone and kiss of her lost and only love — 
have no plea for her, save the words of Infinite compassion 
and Divine knowledge of human nature and human woe : 
“ Let him that is without sin among you cast the first stone 
at her!” 

The highly respectable firm of which Mr. Hammond was 
the junior member, was adding, if not field to field, thousand 
to thousand, of the wherewithal for the purchase of fields, 
or, what was better still, city lots. Mrs. Lewis Hammond 
had set up her carriage about a year after her marriage ; said 
equipage being a gift from her generous husband on the oc- 
casion of the first airing of the little “ Baby Belle,” as she 
was always called in the family. Not until subsequent events 
had widowed it with deeper and saddest interest did Sarah 
read Aldrich’s beautiful poem bearing the above title. 
Lewis’s mother’s name was Isabella. Her grandchild re- 
ceived the same, which became Behe on JLe motnei’i 
tongue, and then, because it was natural to say ‘‘ Baby” too, 
the pretty alliteration was adopted. 

To a man of Lewis’s domestic tastes the advent of this 
child was a source of the liveliest pleasure, and the tiny in- 
mate of his household was another and a powerful tie, bind- 
ing liim to a home already dear. But to the mother’s lonely 
life, so bare of real comfort or joy — haunted by memory jmd 
darkened by remorse — tSie precious gift came like a ray of 
Heaven’s purest light, a strain of angel music, saying t€ 


H tr 0 K 8. 


195 


care, Sleep !’* lo hope, “ Awake, the morning cometh Be* 
Death the sunshine of so much love, the infant throve finely, 
and without being a greater prodigy than the nine hundred 
and ninety-nine miracles of beauty and sprightliness wlin, 
with it, composed the thousand “ blessed babies” of the day, 
was still a pretty, engaging creature, whose gurgling laugl) 
and communicative “ coo” beguiled the mother’s solitude, 
and made cheerful the lately silent house. 

It was late in the June afternoon, and arrayed in clean 
white frock, broad sash, and shoulder-knots of pink ribbon, 
the small lady sat on her mother’s lap at the front window, 
awaiting the appearance of the husband and father. Sarah 
had altered much since her marriage ; “ improved wonder- 
fully,” said her acquaintances. There was still in her mien a 
touch of haughtiness; in her countenance the look that spoke 
profound thought and introspection. Still, when in repose, 
her brow had a cast of seriousness that bordered on melan- 
choly ; but over her features had passed a change like that 
wrought by the sculptor’s last stroke to the statue. The 
mould was the same — the chiselling more clear and fine. 
Especially after the birth of her child was this refining pro- 
cess most apparent in its effects. There was a softness in liei 
smile, a gentle sweetness in her voice, as she now talked to 
the babe, directing its attention to the window, lest the 
father’s approach should be unnoticed, and he disappointed 
in his shout of welcome. 

‘‘ How affected ! gotten up for show !” sneered the child 
less Mrs. Bond, as she rolled by in her carriage, on her waj 
to her handsome, cheerless home and its cross master. 

“ She has chosen her position well, at all events,” rejoined 
her companion, a neighbor and gossip, who had taken Lucy’s 
place in Victoria’s confidence. 

‘‘Ridiculous!” She spat out the ejaculation from the 
orerflowing of her spleen. “ I could laugh at her airs, if 


156 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


they did r.oc make me mad ! One would think, to see hei 
as 8l)e sits there, that she had decked herself and the child 
to please a man that she doated upon — like the good wives 
we read of in novels.” 

And why shouldn’t she be fond of him ? He is a good 
/.carted fellow, and lets her do pretty much as she pleases, 
I imagine, besides waiting on her like any lover- I often 
meet them riding out together. That is more than your 
husband or mine ever does, my dear.” 

“ They go quite as often as we desire their company, I 
fancy. Mine does, I know. Perhaps if we had the reason 
for parading our conjugal devotion that Mrs. Hammond has, 
we might wheedle our lawful lords into taking a seat along- 
side of us, once in a while. There’s nothing like keeping 
up appearances, particularly if the reality is lacking. If 
Lewis Hammond knew some of the pretty stories I could 
tell him, about his Sarah’s love-scrapes, he would not look 
so sublimely contented with his three-story paradise. The 
elegant clothes he piles upon that squaw of his are prepos- 
terous, and she carries them off as if she had dressed well 
all her days. I tell you, she never looked decent until she 
put on her wedding-dress. You have heard of the fainting 
scene that took place that morning, I suppose ? Old Mothei 
Hunt said it was ‘ sensibility,’ and ‘ nervous agitation ;’ the 
company laid it to the heat of the room ; and I laughed in 
my sleeve, and said nothing. If that woman aggravates 
!iie much more, I will remind her of some passages in her 
experience she does not dream that I know.” 

^ Do tell me what you mean ? I am dying of curiosity 1 
Did she flirt very hard before she was married?” 

“ She never had the chance. Lewis Hammond was her 
only offer.” 

“ What was the matter, then ?” 

“ I can’t tell you now. It is too long a story. The next 


H tr 8 K 6. 


157 


tine she frets me, as she does whenever she crosses my 
path, maybe you will hear the romance. Shall I set you 
down at your door, or will you enliven me by spending the 
evening with me? I do not expect other company, and 
George falls asleep over his newspaper as soon as he ha? 
despatched his dinner. Come in, and I will show you (he 
loveliest sofa-pillow you ever beheld ; a new pattern I ha> t 
just finished.” 

“ Thank you ! I would accept the invitation with pleas- 
ure, but I have not been home since breakfast, and James 
makes such a fuss if he does not find me in the nursery, 
tending that whimpering baby, when he comes up at night, 
that it is as much as my life is worth to stay out after six 
o’clock. Any thing for peace, you know ; and since we 
wives are slaves, it is best to keep on the blind side of our 
masters.” 

The day had been warm down town, and as Lewis Ham- 
mond stepped from the stage at the corner nearest his house, 
he felt jaded and dispirited — a physical depression, aug- 
mented by a slight headache. A business question which he 
had talked over with Mr. Marlow, before leaving the store, 
contributed its weight of thoughtfulness, and he was not 
conscious how near he was to his dwelling until, aroused by 
a sharp tap upon the window-pane, he glanced up at the 
animated tableau framed by the sash — the smiling mother, 
and the babe leaping and laughing, and stretchbig its hands 
towards him. 

“ This is the sweetest refreshment a man can ask aftr.i 
his day of toil,” he said, when, having kissed wife and child, 
he took the latter in his arms. He was not addicted to 
complimentary speeches, and while his esteem and attach 
inent for his chosen partner were even stronger than they 
had been in the heart of the month-old bridegroom, he was 
less apt to express them to her now than then. In one 


V 


168 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB , 


respect, and only one, his wedded life had brought niro 
disappointment.. Unreserved confidence and demonstrati 
affection on his side had failed to draw forth similar exhibi 
lions of feehng from Sarah. Kind, thoughtful, dutiful^ 
scrupulously faithful to him and his interests in word, look, 
and deed, she ever was. Yet he saw that she was 
changed being from the fond, impulsive daughter, whose 
ministry in her father’s sick-room had won for her a hus- 
band’s love. Her reception of his affectionate advances was 
passive — a reception merely, without apparent return. 
Never, and he had ceased now to ask it, had she once said 
to him the phrase he had craved to hear — ‘‘ I love you !” 
Yet he would as soon have questioned the reality of Uis 
existence as that she did love him. He held inviolate his 
trust in the motive that had induced her to become his wife, 
and in this calm confidence he was fain to rest, in the ab- 
sence of protestations that would have gladdened his soul, 
while they could hardly have strengthened his faith in Her 
affection. 

Few wives, however loving, have been more truly clufr- 
ished than was Sarah, and of this she was partially aware. 
If she had remained ignorant of Lewis’s sentiments and 
wishes with regard to herself, until the grieved and unre- 
quited love had subsided into the dull aching that does not, 
like a green wound, create, by its very smart, a spe- 
cies of excitement that helps one bear the pain ; had he 
glided gradually into the joyless routine of her life’s dutieSj 
and bided his time of speaking until he had made nimself 
necessary to her comfort and peace, he might have won a 
willing bride. But what omniscient spirit was there to 
instruct and caution him ? He met and loved her, supposing 
her to be as free as himself ; like an honest, upright man, he 
told that love, and, without a misgiving, placed his honoi 
and his happiness in her hands. 


H U8K8. 


159 


Sarah could not have told why bue revolved all this in 
tier unquiet mind as he sat near her, playing with their 
child ; yet she did think of their strange sad history, and 
from the review arose a feeling of pity, sincere, almost 
^euder, for him, so worthy and so deceived. She remem- 
eied with abasement of spirit how often she had been 
iidy to hate him as the instrument of her bondage ; how 
vvratiiful words had arisen to her lips at the moment of his 
greatest kindness ; how patiently he had borne her coldness ; 
how unflagging was his care of and for her. Over the dark, 
turbulent gulf of the unforgotten past that sundered their 
hearts, she longed, as she had never done before, to call to 
him, and confessing her sin against Heaven and against 
Him, to implore pardon for the sake of the spotless babe 
Aat smiled into the father’s face with its mother’s eyes. 
W ould he be merciful ? Slowly and emphatically memory 
repeated in her ear his denunciation of the unloving wife, 
and courage died before the menaced curse. 

“Fudge! Fiddlesticks! what frippery nonsense!” cry 
out, in a vehement storm of indignation, a bevy of the 
Common Sense connection. “ Are we not staid and respect 
able matrons all ? Do we not rear our daugliters virtuous- 
ly, and teach our sons to honor father as well as mother? 
Yet who of us troubles herself with raking in the cold ashes 
of her ‘ long ago’ for the bones of some dead and gone love 
- -a girlish folly of which she would be ashamed now ? 
What cares Mr. Common Sense, among his day-books and 
'edgers, in his study or in his office, how many times his now 
correct helpmeet pledged eternal fidelity to other lovers 
before she put her last crop of Avild oats into the ground, 
and settled for life with him ? What if some of us, may be 
all, if driven hard, should admit that when we stood up 
before the minister we underwent certain qualms — call them 
pangs, if you like — at the thought of Tom This, or Harry 


260 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


That, or Dick The Other, who, if circumstances had permit 
ted, we would have preferred should occupy the place of 
‘Th« man whom we actually held by the hand!’ Wliile 
men can choose their mates, and women can only take such 
as propose to them, these things will happen. After ah, 
who is hurt?” You aver that none of you are, inesdaTncs. 
and we would not call your word in question. Ladies sc 
conscientious must, of necessity, be veracious, even in love 
affairs. 

I am a thoughtless animal 1” said Lewis at the dinner- 
table. ‘‘There is a letter from Lucy! Open it — don’t 
mind me I I will crack your nuts for you while you read 
it.” 

There was a troubled look in Sarah’s eye when she laid 
it down. “Lucy says they are certainly coming North this 
year — that we may look for them in a week from the date 
of this. This is rather sooner than mother expected them. 
Her housecleaning is late this season, in consequence of hei 
rheumatic spell in May.” 

“ Let them come straight here ! What should prevent 
them? There is an abundance of room for them — baby, 
nurse, and all. It will be a grand arrangement!” said 
Lewis, heartily. 

Sarah was backward in replying. “ Father and mother 
may object. I would not wound them by interference with 
their guests.” 

“ I will answer that mother will thank us to take care o1 
hem until her scrubbing and scalding are done. And Liic] 
would not be willing to risk her baby’s health in a daiiq 
house ” 

“ I will go and see mother to-morrow about it,” concluded 
Sarah. She still appeared dubious as to the expediency of 
the pn posed step, a thoughtfulness that did not wear away 
during the whole evening. 


flTTSKB. 


161 


Tlie Bensons had not visited New York the ]> receding 
fear. They were detained at the South by a conibinatior 
of causes, the principal of which was the long and fatal ill 
ness of Pliilip’s mother. Lucy had written repeatedly of hei 
Intense desire to see her home once more, declaiming against 
the providences that had thwarted their projects, like an mi 
patient, unreasonable child. 

“Philip says it is not convenient for him to go just yet/ 
said her letter to her sister, “ and that our part of the conn 
try is as healthy as Saratoga itself ; but I have vowed that 
I will not wait one day beyond the time I have set. It sets 
me wild to think of being in Broadway again — of visiting 
and shopping, and seeing you all. We have been so dull 
here since Mrs. Benson’s death, and Philip is as solemn as a 
judge. One of his married sisters will stay with the old 
gentleman while we are away. O Sarah ! I am sick of 
housekeeping and baby-nursing ! It will do well enough for 
me when I need spectacles and a wig ; but now, while I am 
young enough to enjoy life, it is insufferable If 

“Not very domestic, is she?” observed Lewis, folding up 
the letter, which Sarah had handed him. “ Ah ! it is not 
every man who has such a gem of a wife as I have ! It ap- 
pears to me that the married women of tftese days are not 
satisfied unless they have a string of beaux as long as that 
of a popular single belle. How is it, little one ? Do you 
ever catch yourself wishing that your husband were not such 
m old-fashioned piece of constancy, and would give som^ 
other fellow a chance to say a pretty thing, when you are in 
company ?’ 

“ I do not complain,” said Sarah, demurely. 

“Not in words, perhaps; your patience is wonderful in 
every thing. But how do you feel when you see your old 
neighbor, Mrs. Bond, waltzing every set with the gayest 
gallant in the ball-room, while your jailor does not like te 


THE EMPTY heart; oe, 


Lb2 

have you * polk’ at all, and favors your dancing only with 
rnoii whoiri he knows to be respectable.” 

I feel that Mr. Hammond is a sensible man, and careful 
r bis wife’s reputation, even in trifles, while Mr. Bond — ” 

** Go on ! finish your sentence !” 

“ And his lady are a well-matched pair !” 

Much as she disliked Victoria, and knowing that she was 
iiated still by her^ Sarah deemed it a necessary and common 
act of courtsey to her sister’s friend to call and apprise her 
of Lucy’s probable visit. 

‘‘ It is not convenient for mother to receive them for 
a week yet, on account of certain household arrange- 
ments,” she stated, in making known the object of her 
visit to her ancient enemy. “ So you will find Lucy at our 
house, where her friends will be received as if they were 
my own.” 

“You are very polite, I am sure!” replied Mrs. Bond, 
smothering her displv:asure at Sarah’s studied civility, and 
noting, with her quick, reptile perceptions, that she was to 
be tolerated as she fancied Sarah would imply, merely as 
Lucy’s early associate “ And the Bensons are to be with 
you ! I shall call immediately upon their arrival. Poor, dear 
Lucy ! I long to see her. She has had a vast deal of trouble 
since her marriage — has she not ?” 

“ Except the death of her mother-in-law, she has had 
nothing to trouble her that I have heard of,” answered Sarah, 
rising to go. 

“ My dear creature ! what do you call the wear and tear 

managing a husband, and a pack of unruly servants, and 
looking after a baby ? And she was such a belle ! 1 wonder 

if she is much broken I” 

“ Come and see !” 

Mrs Hammond was at the parlor door. 

“ I will — most assured y ! How do you like their being 


HU8:g:*s. 


168 


ijaftitered upon you ? What does that patten fcL':>.baud of 
yours say to this ?” 

“ Madam !” said Sarah, surprised and offended by Jie rude 
query. 

‘‘ Oh 1 I don’t mean that it would not lie very delightful 
for you to have your sister with you ; but there was a fool- 
ish rumor, about the time of your marriage, that you and Mi 
Benson had some kind of a love-passage, down in the coum 
try ; and I thought that Mr. Hammond, with his particularly 
nice notions, misrht retain an unpleasant recollection of the 
story, which would prevent him from being on brotherly 
terms with liis old rival. Men are terribly unn.iasonable 
mortals, and perfect Turks in jealousy ! We sannDt be too 
careful not to provoke their suspicions.” 

Not for the universe would Sarah have betrayed any feel- 
ing at this insolence, save a righteous and dignified resent- 
ment at its base insinuations ; but the ungovernable blood 
streamed in crimson violence to her temples, and her voice 
shook when she would have held it firm. 

"‘Mr. Hammond is not one to be influenced by malicious 
gossip, Mrs. Bond, if, indeed, the report you have taken the 
liberty of repeating was ever circulated except by its author, 
I cannot thank you for your warning, as I recognize no occa- 
sion for jealousy in my conduct or character. I am account- 
able for my actions to my conscience and my husband, and I 
release you from what you have assumed to be your duty of 
watching and criticising my personal affairs. Good-morning.” 

“ I struck the sore spot ! no doubt of that !” solilo<|ui 2 ed 
Mrs. Bond, recalling Sarah’s start of pain and blush at the 
indelicate allusion to Philip Benson. “ That woman stirs up 
all the bile in my system if I talk two minutes with her. If 
there were half the material to work upon in that vain, weak 
liuoy, that there is in this sister, I would have my revenge, 
\s foi Lewis Hammond, he is a love-sick fooll” 


164 


THE EMPTY HEAKT; Oft 


SaiMli’s cheeks had not lost their flush, nor had her heart 
ceased its angry thi*ob kings, when she reached home. In 
the solitude of her chamber, she summoned strength and 
r(‘soliiUon to ask herself the question, so long avoided, shun' 
ed, as she had imagined, in prudence, as she now began tc 
in dread of a truthful reply. 

Vhen she married Lewis Hammond, she loved anothei 
'■ ai ful as wHr^ this sin, it would be yet more terrible were 
tie now to discover a lurking fondness, an unconquered 
-ve.ikness for tliat other, in the heart of the trusted wiie, the 
! not her who, from that guilty bosom, nourished the little 
being that was, as yet, the embodiment of unsullied purity. 
It was a trying and a perilous task, to unfold deliberately, 
to pry senrchingly into the record of that one short month 
that had held all the bloom and fragrance of her life’s spring 
season ; to linger over souvenirs and compare sensations — 
a painful and revolting process ; but, alas ! the revulsion was 
not at memories of that olden time ; and as this appalling 
conviction dawned upon her, her heart died within her. 

The nurse was arranging Baby Belle for the possible re- 
ception of her unknown aunt and uncle, that afternoon, when 
Mrs. Hammond came into the nursery, her face as pale and 
set as marble, and silently lifted the child from the girl’s lap 
to her own. For one instant her cheek was laid against the 
velvet of the babe’s ; the ringlets of fair hair mingled with 
her dark locks, before she set about completing its unfinish- 
ed toilette. With a nicety and care that would have seem- 
ed overstrained, had other than the mother’s hands been 
busied in the work, the stockings and slippers were fitted on 
the plump feet; the sunny curls rolled around the nngeis of 
the tiring woman, and brushed back from the brow; the 
worked cambric robe lowered cautiously over the head, lest 
the eflect of tlie coiffure should be marred ; the sleeves loop* 
ed up with bands of cor<al and gold, a necklace, belonging tc 


KU 8 K 0. 


Ui 

ahe same set, clasped around the baby’s white tnroat, and 
she was ready for survey 

‘‘ Now, Baby Belle and mamma will go down w meet 
papa !” 

And with the little one still clinging to her necK, she met 
in the lower b^il, her husband ushering in Lucy aiid Phil5|' 

Benton. 


THE EMPTY HEABT* OB 




CHAPTER XIII. 

Bbeakfast was kept back an hour next mornii g to awail 
Lucy’s tardy appearance. ‘‘ She was sadly wearied with 
her journey^” apologized Philip, and Sarah begged that she 
would keep her room and have her meals sent up to her— 
an hospitable offer, which Mr. Benson negatived. 

Lucy did look tired and unrefreshed, and, to speak inori: 
plainly, very cross. Her hair, in its dryest state of pale 
yellow, was combed straight back above her temples ; hei 
skin was sallow ; her wrapper carelessly put on, and its dead 
white unrelieved by even a bow of ribbon at the throat. In- 
voluntarily Lewis glanced from the uninviting picture to bis 
household deity, in her neat breakfast-dress of gray silk 
faced with pink, her glossy hair and tranquil features, and 
said to himself, in secret triumph, “Which is now the beauty ? 
None of your trumpery ornamental articles for me !” 

Philip’s eyes were as keen as his host’s, and the probabili 
ty is that he instituted a similar comparison, however well 
his pride succeeded in concealing the act and its result. 
Cutting short his wife’s querulous plaints of the discomforts 
of travel, and the horrors of nervous sleeplessness, he open- 
ed a conversation with Mr. Hammond in the subdued, per- 
fectly-managed tones Sarah remembered so well, selecting 
such topics as would interest a business man and a citizen 
of a commercial metropolis. Lucy pouted, and applied her- 
•elf for consolation to her breakfast. 

With a strange mingling of emotions, Sarah listened w 


HUSKS. 


thfe dialogue between the gentlemen. She was anxious that 
Lewis should acquit himself creditably. Brilliant, like 
Philip, he could never be ; but in sterling sense, not many 
men were his superiors. She had never had cause be 
ashamed of him ; for one so unpretending and judicious 
was not liable to make himself ridiculous. Whence, then, 
the solicitude with which she hung upon his every word f 
her disappointment wlien he did not equal the ideal reply 
she had fashioned, as she heard the words that called it 
forth ? Several times she joined in the conversation, inva- 
riably to corroborate Lewis’s assertions, or to supply some- 
thing he had omitted to state. Philip Benson was a student 
of human nature. Was his mind sufficiently abstracted 
from his domestic annoyances to divine the motive that 
Sarah herself only perceived afterwards in solitary self- 
examination ? Not love of, or admiration for th« intrinsic 
excellence of the man whose name she bore ; not fear lest 
his modesty should lessen his merits in the eyes of others ; 
but a selfish dread that his acute interlocutor, discerning in 
him nothing likely to attract or win the affection of a woman 
such as he knew her to be, might guess her true reason for 
marrying Mr. Hammond. The timorous progeny of one 
guilty secret can only be numbered by the minutes during 
which it is borne in the bosom. Like the fabled Lacedae- 
monian boy, Sarah carried the gnawing horror with a forti- 
tude that looked like cheerfulness. Habit cannot lighten 
the weight of a clinging curse ; but strength and hardness 
( ome in time, if the burdened one is not early crushed by 
his load. 

The sisters spent most of the day in Lucy’s room ; the 
latter stretched upon the lounge, as she declared, ‘‘com- 
pletely used up.” Mrs. Hunt came around early in the 
forenoon, and into her sympathizing ears the spoiled child 
poured the story of her woes and wrongs : Sarah sitting by 


168 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


with a swelling, rebellious heart. With indecorous cc nteinpl 
for one of the most binding laws of the married state-* in- 
violable secrecy as to the faults of the other party to the 
momentous compact — mother and daughter compared note® 
upon their husbands, and criticised the class generally as the 
most wrong-headed, perverse, and dictatorial of all lit* 
necessary evils of society. 

Mrs. Benson, the elder, and her pleasure-loving daughter 
b-law had differed seriously several months before the death 
of the former. Philip, while espousing his wife’s cause to 
the rest of his family, had, in private, taken her to task for 
what he considered objectionable in her conduct ; her heads 
of offence being mainly extravagant love of gay company, 
and the gallant attentions of gentleman-visitors ; neglect of 
dress and all efforts to please, when there was no company 
by ; and a decided indisposition to share in the household 
duties, which his mother’s increasing feebleness made 
onerous to her. 

‘‘ Ah, mother !” sighed the interesting complainant, raising 
herself to shake up her pillow, then sinking again upon it. 
‘‘If girls only realized what is before them when they 
marry, few would be brave enough to change their con- 
dition. When I picture to myself what I was at home- -a 
petted darling — never allowed to inconvenience myself 
when it could possibly be avoided ; courted in society ; free 
as air and light-hearted as a child. ; and then think of ali 
that I have endured from the unkindness of strangers, and 
the — well — the want of sympathy in him for whom I had 
given up my dear old home and friends — I ask myself why 
I did not remain single !” 

The prudent matchmaker shook her head. “ Marriage is 
a lottery, they say, my dear ; but I am very sure that single 
life is a blank. You had no fortune, and in the event of 
vour father’s death would have been almost destitute. I sni 


sorry that your father did not insist upon Mr< Benson^s 
giving you your own establishment at once. I hope, now 
the old lady is out of the way, you will have things more 
according to your notions.” 

‘‘Don’t you believe that! As if there were not two 
listers -in-law, living but four miles off, and driving over 
3 very other day to ‘ see how pa is.’ That means, to see 
whether Lucy is letting things go to wreck and ruin. I 
understand their spiteful ways ! Philip shuts his ears when 
[ talk about them ; but I am determined that I will not bear 
much more meddling !” 

Decidedly, Lucy Benson married was a woeful declension 
from the seraphic spinster depicted in our earlier chapters ; 
but, as in time past, so in time present and to come, the 
sparkling sugar, whose integrity and sweetness appeared 
indestructible, while it was kept dry and cool, if dampened, 
undergoes an acetous fermentation, and the delicate sweet- 
meat, exposed to the air at a high temperature, becomes 
speedily a frothing mass, evolving pungent gases. The 
pretty doll who anticipates, in the connubial state, one long 
/e^6-day of adoration received, and benign condescension 
dispensed, is as certain to awake from this dream as from 
any other, and upon the temper in which she sustains the 
disenchantment, depends a vast proportion of her future 
welfare and peace. 

Lucy’s behavior to her babe was a mixture of childish 
fondling and neglect. Fortunately, the little “ Hunt’s” 
special attendant was an elderly woman, long established a. 

‘ Maumer” in the Benson family, and her devotion to her 
charge prevented any present evil effects from his mother’s 
incompetence or carelessness. Philip’s pride in, and love 
for his boy were extreme. When he came in that evening, 
Sarah chanced to be in the nursery adjoining her chamber, 
watching and inciting the two babies to a game of romps, 
8 


170 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


She held one on each knee, the nurses standing by b 
amused gratification. 

“ That is surely my little man’s voice !” said Philip, as he 
and Lewis came up the stairs. 

Let me see !” — and Mr. Hammond peeped into the play 
oom. “ Walk in!” he continued, throwing the door wide 
open. Isn’t there a pair of them ?” 

“ And a nurse worthy of the twain !” replied Philip. He 
stooped to the invitation of the lifted arms, fluttering, as if 
the owner would fly to his embrace. “ What do you sa^ 
of him, aunty? Is he not a passable boy?” 

“ More than passable ! he is a noble-looking fellow. H( 
resembles you, I think,” said Sarah, quietly. 

‘‘Do you hear that, Hammond? Your wife pronounces 
me ‘ more than passable — a noble-looking fellow !’ So much 
for an adroit hint. Is she given to flattery ?” 

“Not she!” returned Lewds, laughing. “ She never said 
as much as that for my looks in all her life. I have one con 
solation, however ; the less she says the more she means !” 
He went into the dressing-room, and Philip, still holding the 
chilvl, seated himself by Sarah. 

“ How odd, yet how familiar it seems, to be Wxth you 
once more, my good sister ! What a succession of mis- 
chances has made us virtual strangers for many months 
past ! I had almost despaired of ever holding friendly con- 
verse with you again. I wonder if your recollections 
of our visit to Aunt Sarah are as vivid as mine. Do 
you remember that last sad, yet dear day on the Deal 
Beach ?” 

Baby Belle was standing in her mother’s lap, her soft, 
warm arms about her neck; and around the frail, sinking 
human heart invisible arms, as warm and close, were up* 
holding and strengthening it in the moment of morUJ 
weakness. 


HUSKS. 


171 


Very distinctly. Many changes have come to ns both 
■lince then.” 

‘‘ To me very many ! I have grown older in heart than 
in years.” Then, evidently fearing that she might other- 
ivise interpret his meaning, he subjoined : “ We have had a 
heavy bereavement in our household, you know. lowr 
changes have all been happy ones. The enthusiastic, rest- 
less girl has ripened into the more sedate, yet more blessed 
wife and mother.” 

Press your sweet mouth to the convulsed lips, Baby 
Belle! veil with your silky curls the tell-tale features, 
whose agitation would bewilder, if not betray ! Philip was 
stroking the head of his boy, and did not see the uneasiness 
of his companion. 

‘‘ Have you heard of Uncle Nathan’s death?” she asked, 
clearing her throat. 

He looked surprised at the inquiry. ‘‘Yes! Aunt Sarah 
wrote immediately to my father.” 

“ Ah ! I had forgotten that they were brothers. My 
memory is treacherous. Excuse me ! I am wanted in the 
dining-room !” 

Lewis met her just outside the door, and stopped her to 
bestow the evening kiss he had not cared to offer in Philip’s 
presence. 

“ Why, you are as rosy as a peony !” he said, jestingly, 
‘ Has Benson been paying you compliments, in return for 
yours to him ? I must look after you two, if you carry on 
at this rate.” 

With a look he had reason subsequently to recall, but 
which only pleased him at the time, she raiSed his hand to 
her lips — a look of humility, gratitude, and appeal, such as 
one might cast upon a slighted benefactor — and vanished. 

A merry family party gathered around the Hamriond’^ 
generous table, that afternoon All the Hunts weie thcry- 


172 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


from the father down to Jeannie, who was fast sliooting ul 
into a tall girl, somewhat pert in manner, but lo viable despite 
this, at timos, unpleasant foible. 

Sister Lucy,” she said, after an interval of silenca 
^ Ellen West said, at school, to-day, that you were a great 
belle when you were a young lady ; were you ?” 

“You must not ask me, Jeannie!” The old smile oi 
conscious beauty stole into Lucy’s cheeks. 

“ Was she, sister ?” Jeannie referred the case to Sarah. 

“Yes, my dear, she was very beautiful,” replied the latter, 
simply. 

“ She isn’t now — not so very handsome, I mean — no hand- 
somer than you are, sister !” 

“ Jeannie I you forget yourself!” interposed Mrs. Hunt. 

‘Why, mamma, I did not intend to be rude! Only I 
thought that belles were always the prettiest ladies that 
could be found anywhere.” 

“ By no means !” corrected Lewis, willing to help his 
wife’s pet out of a scrape. “There are many descriptions 
of belles, Jeannie: handsome, rich, fast, and intellectual.” 

“And as papa was not rich, I suppose you were either 
fast or intellectual, sister Lucy !” persisted the child. 

“I thought her pretty fast when I tried to catch her,” 
said Philip. — “ Mrs. Hunt, Mrs. Hammond, Mrs. Benson, 
have you ladies decided in the course of to-day’s congress 
what watering-place is to be made the fashion by our 
clique next month ?” 

Mrs. Hunt replied that they inclined to Newport; prinei 
pally on account of Luoy and the children, who would all 
be benefited by the bathing. 

Lucy was sure that she should tire of Saratoga or the 
Catskills in a week, whereas she adored the ocean. 

“ What says Madame Discretion ?” «aid Lewis, merrily; 
to his wife. 


HTT SS:b 


173 

‘‘Except that it would break up the family party, I had 
rather stay at home as bng as it is prudent to keep the 
baby in town ; then, if you could go with us, spend a month 
at some mountain farm-house or sea-side cottage,” shf 
answered. 

“Hear! hear I’*' commanded Philip. “Behold a modern 
wedded dame who prefers seclusion with her liege lord to 
gayety without him! The age of miracles is returning 1” 

“ Is the case, then, so anomalous ?” retorted Sarah, the red 
spot in her cheek alone testifying to her embarrassment. 
“ Are your Southern matrons all public characters ?” 

‘I can answer that!” said Lucy. “They are slaves! 
housekeeping machines — nothing better !” 

“ How many more weak places are there in this crust of 
family chit-chat, I should like to be informed !” thoug|it the 
annoyed and uninitiated Hammond. “ Here goes for the 
spot where there is no danger of anybody’s breaking in 1” 
He spoke aloud. “ A tempting proposal was made to me 
this morning. It is considered advisable for one of our firm 
to go abroad for a couple of months, perhaps longer, to 
divide his time among the principal manufacturing districts 
of England, Scotland, and France. Expenses paid by the 
firm, and the term of absence indefinitely prolonged, if the 
traveller wishes it. Mr. Marlow is tired of crossing the 
ocean, and presses me to accept the mission.” 

“ What did you tell him ?” 

It was Sarah who spoke in a startled voice that drew 
general notice to her alarmed face. Her concern was a de- 
licious tribute to her husband’s self-love, if he possessed 
such a quality. At least he loved her well enough to b^ 
pleased at her manifest reluctance to have him leave her. 

“ I told him that I must ask my wife,” said he in a meek 
tone, belied by the humorous twinkle in his eye, and loving 
balf-smile about his mouth. “ See what it is to be one under 


174 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


authority, Benson ! A man dare not conclude an ordinary 
business transaction without the approval of the powers 
that be.” 

When Sarah accompanied her sister to her chamber that 
sight, the passee belle put a direct question. 

“ Tell me, Sarah, are you as much in love with Mr. llaiU' 
mond as you seem to be, or is it all put on for the benefit of 
outsiders ?” 

I am not apt to do any thing for the sake of mere show ; 
nor do I care for the opinion of ‘outsiders,’ as you call 
them,” rejoined Sarah, amazed at the cool audacity of the 
inquiry, and disposed to resent Lucy’s confident expectation 
that she would avow the cheat, if such there were, in her 
deportment. 

“You used to be shockingly independent, I know. What 
a ridiculously honest little puss you were ! How you de- 
spised all our pretty arts and necessary affectations ! How 
you hated our economical mother’s second-best furniture and 
dinners ! I don’t believe Victoria West has ever forgiven 
you for the way in which you used to take to pieces what 
you styled our ‘surface talk and surface life !’ I thought, 
however, that you had discovered by this time, that one 
cannot live in the world without deceiving herself or other 
people ; I prefer making fools to being one. Heigh-ho ! this 
life is a very unsatisfactory business at the best. What a 
heavenly collar that is of yours ! One thing I do wish, and 
that is — that my husband were half as fond of me, oi ad 
good to me, as Lewis is to you I” 


H 0Ss:b. 


175 


CHAPTER XIV. 

Lewis Hammond had thrown the whole weight of his itt 
fluence in the family conclave, into the Newport scale ; and 
to this popular resort Sarah went, in July, in company with 
the Bensons, her mother and Jeannie, who was made one of 
the party at Lewis’s request and expense. The generous 
fellow acted in conformity with conscience and judgment in 
this temporary exile of his treasures ; and, consistent in his 
purpose of rendering it a pleasure excursion to his wife, be 
made very light of his prospects of lonely widowerhood, rep- 
resenting, instead, the benefit she and the babe would draw 
from the sea-breezes, and his enhanced enjoyment of his 
weekly visits, because they were so far apart. He went with 
them to the shore, at their general flitting, and spent two 
days ; saw for himself that those whose comfort was nearest 
his heart were properly accommodated ; privately feed 
chambermaid and waiter, with hints of future emolument 
to accrue to them from special regard to the wants of 
Mrs. Hammond and her infant, and returned to town with 
the unenviable consciousness of having left at least three- 
fourths of himself behind him. 

A brisk rush of business beguiled him of the aching, hoi 
low void for a few hours after he got back. Not even Baby 
Belle s accents could be heard amid that roar and whir. But 
at luncheoii time, while waiting for his order to be filled at n 
restaurant, the dreary, solitary void overtook him — a fit of 
unmistakable home-sickness, that yet caused him to recoil at 


176 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


the idea of entering the deserted house up-town, when even 
ing should oblige him to seek a lodging. How were Sarah 
and baby getting along without him ? He was afraid that 
jiiny was not, in all respects, as congenial a companion as 
e (iould have wished his wife to have, and that Mrs. Hunt's 
undisguised worldliness, her foolish love of fashion and ditf* 
play, would often annoy and mortify her sensible and right 
iudging daughter. Benson was capital company, though — * 
a gentleman every inch of him! and very friendly to Sarah. 
But for her reserved manners he would act the part of a 
real brother to her ; in any case, he would be kind, and see 
that she wanted for nothing. 

Then — shot into his head by some unseen and unaccount- 
able machinery — there darted across his mind a fragment of 
a conversation he had overheard, at entering his parlor, the 
day before the Bensons left. Philip and Lucy were standing 
before a miniature painting of Sarah and her child, completed 
and brought home a short time previous. Although seem- 
ingly intent upon the picture, their conversation riust have 
strayed far from the starting-point, for the first sentence that 
reached the unintentional listener was a tart, scornful speech 
from Lucy, that could by no stretch of the imagination be 
made to apply to her sister. 

“ If you admire her so much, why did you not marry hei 
wlien you had the opportunity? She was willing enough !’ 

“ Take care you do not make me regret that I did not do 
80 !” was Philip’s stern rejoinder as he turned from her. 

The change of position showed him that Lewis was pres 
ent, and for a second his inimitable self-possession wavered. 
Recovering himself, he reverted tc the picture, and called 
upon his host to decide some disputed point in its artistic ex 
scution which he and Lucy were discussing. 

‘‘ Poor fellow! he has learned that all is not gold that glit- 
ters!’* mused Lewis to the newspaper he was pretending to 


HT) SKS. 


177 


read. “ Lucy had a high reputation for amiability before 
she was Mrs. Benson. There is no touchstone like the wxd 
ding-ring to bring out one’s true qualities.” 

He sat with his back to the entrance of the saloon, and 
the table directly behind him was now taken possession of 
by three or four new arrivals — all gentlemen, and apparently 
on familiar terms with one another. They called for a boun- 
tiful lunch, including wine, and plunged into a lively, rather 
noisy talk. Lewis closed his ears, and applied himself in 
earnest to his paper. He started presently at a word he 
could have declared was his name. Restraining the impulse 
tO look around and see who of the group was known to him, 
he yet could not help trying to determine this point by 
their voices. One, a tliin falsetto, he fancied belonged to 
George Bond, who was no more of a favorite with him than 
was his better half with Sarah. Lewis regarded him as a 
conceited rattle-pate, whose sole talent lay in the art of 
making money — whose glory was his purse. Why should 
he be talking about me here ? Nonsense ; I was mistaken !’ 
and another page of the newspaper was turned. 

‘‘ When I leave my wife at Newport, or anywhere else, 
in the particular and brotherly care of one of her former 
flames, publish me as a crazy fool !” said the wiry voice 
again, almost in the reader’s ear. 

“ He doesn’t know old stories as well as you do, perhaps,” 
remarked some one. 

“ 1 should think not ! When my wife pulls the wool over 
ny eyes in that style, horsewhip me around town, ami 1 
won’t cry ‘ Quarter I’ Sister’s husband or not, I’ll be 
ranged if I would have him in my house for two weeks, and 
hfc is such a good-looking dog, too 1” 

He stopped, as if his neighbor had jogged him, as Lewis 
looked over his shoulder in the direction of the gossip. A 
dead and awkward silence ensued, ended at last by th« 
8 * 


178 


THE EMPTY heart; OB, 


pertinent observation that the “waiter was a Icnf 
bringing their lunch.” 

In a maze of angry doubt and incredulity as to the evi* 
dence of his senses and suspicions, Lewis finished his meal, 
%nd stalked out past the subdued and now voracious qtiar 
favoring them with a searching look as he went by. 
v/hich they sustained with great raeekUv'ss. All the afttu 
noon a heavy load lay upon his heart — an ^definable dread 
he dared not analyze ; a fbrboding he woulu not face, yet 
could not dismiss. 

“ You are blue, Lewis !” said Mr. Marlow, kindly, as they 
started up town together. “ This is the worst of having a 
wife and children ; you miss them^so terribly when they are 
away. But you will get used to it. Make up your mind at 
the eleventh hour to cross the water, and stay abroad three 
months. You will be surprised to find how easy your mind 
will become after a couple of weeks.” 

“ I am satisfied, sir, without making personal trial of the 
matter, that men become inured to misery, which seemed 
in the beginning to be insupportable.” 

Mr. Marlow laughed, and they separated. 

Lewis sighed as he looked up at the blinds of his house, 
chut fast and grim, and still more deeply as he admitted 
himself to the front hall, that echoed dismally the sound of 
the closing door. His next movement was to walk into the 
parlor, throw open a shutter, and let in the evening light 
upon the portraits of the dear absent ones. There he stood, 
scanning their faces — eyes and soul full of love and long- 
ing — until the mellow glow passed away and left them in 
darkness. 

The comfortless evening repast was over, and he betook 
himsel.f to the library, Sarah’s favorite room, as it was also 
his. Her low easy-chair stood in its usual place opposite 
his at the centre-table, but her work-basket was missing" 


HUSKS. 


179 


likewise the book, with its silver marker, that he was wont 
to see lying side by side with some volume he had selected 
for his own reading. But one lay there now, and there wa? 
an odd choking in his throat as he read the title on the 
black. had tjn, ;as8ed a wish for it in Sarah’s hearing: 
some days before, A^d her delicate forethought had left it 
here as a solace and keepsake, one that should, while re 
minding him of her, yet charm away sad feelings in hei 
absence. Even in the exterior of the gift, she had been re- 
gardful of his taste. The binding was solid and rich ; nc 
gaudy coloring or tawdry gilt ; the thick smooth paper and 
clear type were a luxury to touch and sight. Levds was 
no sentimentalist, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, yet 
he kissed the name his wife had traced upon the fly-leaf ere 
he sat down to employ the evening as she by her gift tacntly 
requested him to do. But it was a useless attempt. The 
book was not in fault, and he should have read it intently, 
if only because she had bestowed it ; still, the hand that 
held it sank lower and lower, until it rested upon his knee, 
and the reader was the thinker instead. 

The most prosaic of human beings have their seasons ol 
reverie — pleasing or mournful, which are, unknown often 
to themselves, the poetry of their lives. Such was the 
drama Lewis Hammond was now rehearsing in his retro- 
spective dreams. 

The wan and weary mother, whom he remembered as 
always clothed in widow’s weeds, and toiling in painful 
drudgery to maintain herself and her only boy; who had 
smiled and wept, rendered thanksgivings and uttered jirayey? 
for strength, alternately, as she heard Mr. Marlow’s propo- 
sal to protect and help the lad through the world that had 
borne so hardly upon her ; who had strained him to her 
Dosom, and shed fast, hot tears of speechless anguish at 
their parting — a farewell that was never to be forgotten in 


180 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


any meeting on this side of eternity; this was tae vision, 
hers the palladium of love, that liMd nerved liim for the close 
wrestle with fortune, guarded him amid the burning plough- 
si i a res of temptation, carried him unscathed past the hon 
dred mouths of hell, tliat gape upon the innocent and un- 
wary in all large cities. Cold and unsusceptible as he wa« 
deemed in society, he kept unpolluted in his breast a fresh 
living stream of genuine romantic feeling, such as we ar€ 
apt to think went out of fashion — aye, and out of being — 
with the belted knights of yore; wealth he had vowed 
never to squander, never reveal, until he should pour it, 
without one thought of self-reserve, upon his wife I He 
never hinted this to a living creature before the moment 
came for revealing it to the object of his choice. He was a 
‘‘predestined old bachelor!” an “infidel to love and the 
sex,” said and believed the gay and frivolous, and he let 
them talk. His ideal woman, his mother’s representative 
and successor — the beauty and crown of his existence — was 
too sacred for the gaze and comment of indifferent world- 
lings For her he labored and studied and lived ; confident 
In a fatalistic belief that, at the right moment, the dream 
would become a reality — the phantasm leave her cloudy 
height for his arms. 

Love so beautiful and intense as this, like snow in its 
purity, like fire in its fervor, cannot be won to full and elo- 
quent utterance but by answering love— a sentiment identi- 
cal in kind, if not equal in degree ; and Sarah HammondV 
estimate of her husband’s affection was, in consequence < 
this want in herself, cruelly unjust in its coldness and ji - 
erty. His patience with her transient fits of gloom or w a • 
wardness in the early months of their married life; hit 
noble forgetfulness of her faults, and grateful acknowledg- 
ment of her most trifling effort to please him ; his unceasing 
care ; his lavish bounty — all these she attributed too muck 


a u 8 B . 


181 


lo natural amiability and conscientious views of duty ; toe 
little to his warm regard for her personally. In this per- 
suasion she had copied his conduct in externals so far as she 
could; and applauding observers adjudged the mock gem 
to be a fair and equitable equivalent for the rare pearl shij 
had received. 

Lest this digression, into which I have been inadvertently 
betrayed, should mislead any with the idea that I have 
some design of dignifying into a hero this respectable, but 
very commonplace personage, return we to him as ke hears 
eleven o’clock rung out by the monitor on the mantel, and 
says to himself, Baby Belle has been asleep these three 
hours, and mamma, caring nothing for beaux and ball-room, 
is preparing to follow her.” 

Beaux and ball-room! Pshaw! why should the nonsensi- 
cal talk of that jacknapes, George Bond, come to his mind 
just then ? The whole tenor of the remarks that succeeded 
the name he imagined was his disproved that imagination. 
But who had left his wife at Newport in the care of a 
‘‘good-looking” brother-in-law? ^^Aohad been domesticated 
in the family of the deluded husband for a fortnight ? 

Pshaw again ! What concern had he with their scandal- 
ous, doubtless slanderous tattle ? 

“ Why did you not marry her when you had the oppor 
tunity ? She was willing enough !” 

Could Lucy have spoken thus of her sister ? Sarah was 
barely acquainted with Philip Benson when Lucy wedded 
him, having met him but once prior to the wedding-day at 
the house of her aunt in the country, from which place his 
own letter, penned by her father’s sick-bed, recalled her 
How far from his thoughts then was the rapid train of 
consequences that followed upon this preliminary act of 
their intercourse ! 

Did that scoundrel Bond say “ Hammond ?” It was not 


152 


THE EMPTY heart; OK, 


a coniTUon name, and came quite distinctly to his ears in the 
high, unpleasant key he s© disliked. A flush of honest 
shame arose to his forehead at this uncontrollable straying 
of his ideas to a topic so disagreeable, and so often rejected 
by his mind. 

As if-H3ven had I been the person insulted by his pity — 
I would believe one syllable he said of a woman as far above 
him in virtue and intellect, in every thing good and lovable, 
as the heavens are above the earth ! I Avould despise my- 
self as much as I do him, if I could lend rny ear for an in- 
stant to so degrading a whisper ! I wish I had faced him 
and demanded the whole tale; yet no! that would have 
been rash and absurd. Better as it is ! By to-morrow, I 
shall laugh at my ridiculous fancies !” 

Scratch ! scratch ! scratch !” The house was so still in 
the approaching midnight that the slight noise caused him 
a shock and quiver in the excited state of his nerves. The 
interruption was something between a scrape and a rap, 
three times repeated, and proceeding, apparently, from the 
bookcase at his right. What could it be ? He had never 
seen or heard of a mouse on the premises, nor did the sound 
much resemble the nibbling of that animal. Ashamed of 
the momentary thrill he had experienced, he remained still 
and collected, awaiting its repetition. 

“ Scratch ! scratch I rap I” It was in the bookcase — in 
the lower part where were drawers shut in by solid doors. 
These he had never explored, but knew that his wife kept 
pamphlets and papers in them. He opened the outer doors 
cautiously, and listened again, until assured by the scratch- 
ing that his search was in the right direction. There 
were three drawers, two deep, the third and upper shal- 
low. This he drew out and examined. It contained wri- 
ting-paper and envelopes, all in good order. Nor was there 
Wjy sign of the intruder amongst the loose music and peri 


HUSKS. 


188 


odicals in the second. The lower one wag locked — no 
doubt accidentally, for he had never seen Sarah lock up 
any thing except jewels and money. Their servants were 
honest, and she had no cause to fear investigation on his 
Feeling, rather than arguing thus, he removed the drawer 
above, leaving exposed the locked one, and thrust his hand 
down into it. It encountered the polished surface of a 
small box or case, which he was in the act of drawing 
through the aperture left by the second drawer, when some- 
thing dark and swift ran over his hand and up his sleeve. 
With a violent start, he dashed the casket to the floor, and 
another energetic fling of his arm dislodged the mouse. His 
first care was to pursue and kill it ; his next to examine into 
the damage it had indirectly produced. The box — ebony, 
" lined with sandal-wood — had fallen with such force as to 
loosen the spring, and lay on its side wide open ; its treas- 
ures strewed over the carpet. They were neither numer- 
ous, nor in themselves valuable. A bouquet of dried flowers, 
enveloped in silver paper, lay nearest Lewis’s hand, as he 
knelt to pick up the scattered articles. The paper was tied 
about the stalks of the flowers with hlach ribbon, and to this 
was attached a card : ‘‘ Will Miss Sarah accept this trifling 
token of regard from one who is her stanch friend, and 
hopes, in time, to have a nearer claim upon her esteem 
The hand was familiar to the reader as Philip Benson’s. 
Why should Sarah preserve this, while the many floral to- 
kens of his love which she had received were flung away 
when withered like worthless weeds ? The pang of jeal 
ousy was new — sharp as the death-wrench to the heart- 
strings, cruel as the grave ! The card was without date, or 
he would have read, with a different apprehension of its 
meaning, the harmless clause — ‘‘And hopes in time to have 
a nearer claim upon her esteemP There was a time, then, 
when, as Lucy had taunted her husband, he might have 


184 


THE EMPTY HEART; 0 % 


married her sister 1 when Sarah loved him, and had reasoE 
to think herself beloved in return ! What was this sabl« 
badge but the insignia of a bereaved heart, that mourned 
still in secret the faithlessness of her early love, or the ad- 
verse fate that had sundered him from her, and given bin 
to another ? 

Crushing the frail, dead stems m his hand, he threw them 
back into the box, and took up a bit of dark gray wood, 
rough on one side — smoothed on the other into a rude tab- 
let. “ Philip Bemon^ Deal Beach^ July 2 7^^, 1 856. PenseA 
d moir But ten days before he met her at the wharf in 
New York to take her to her sick father ! but three months 
before she plighted her troth to him, promised to wed him, 
while in spirit she was still weeping tears of blood over the 
inconstant ! for he did not forget that Philip’s engagement 
to Lucy preceded his own to Sarah by eight or nine weeks. 
There were other relics in the box ; a half-worn glove, 
retaining the shape of the manly hand it had inclosed — 
which, he learned afterwards, Philip had left in his chamber 
at the farm-house when he departed to seek gayer scenes; 
a white shell, upon whose rosy lining were scratched with 
the point of a knife the ominous initials, ‘‘ P. B.,” ai .d be- 
neath them “ S. B. H.,” a faded rose-bud, and several printed 
slips, cut from the columns of newspapers. He unlblded 
but two of these. 

One was an extract from Tennyson’s ‘‘Maud” — the invi- 
tation to the garden. Breathlessly, by reason of the terrible 
itricture tightening around his heart, Lewis ran his e^es 
over the charming whimsical morceau. Tliey rested ujKW 
and reviewed the last verse : 

“ She is coming — my own my sweet I 
T\"ere it ever so airy a tread, 

My heart would hear her and beat ; 

Were it earth in an earthy bed, 


HUSKS. 


186 


“ My dust would hear her and oeut ; 

Had I laid for a century dead, 

Would start and tremble under her feet. 

And blossom in purple and red.” 

He did not discriminate now between printed and writ- 
ten T arses. These were love stanzas sent by anotbei 
man to his wife, received and cherished by her, hidden 
away with a care that, in itself, bordered on criminality, for 
was not its object the deception of the injured husband ? 
The most passionate autograph love-letter could hardly have 
stabbed him more keenly. 

The other was Mrs. Browning’s exquisite “ Portrait.” 

And here the reader can have an explanation the tortured 
man could not obtain. With the acumen for which Cupid’s 
votaries are proverbial, Philip Benson, then at the “ summer 
heat” degree of his flame for the Saratoga belle, had recog- 
nized in this poem the most correct and beautiful description 
of his lady-love. Curiosity to see if the resemblance were 
apparent to other eyes, and a desire for sympathy tempted 
him to forward it to Sarah. She must perceive the likeness 
to her divine sister, and surmise the sentiment that had in- 
duced him to send it. A little alteration in the opening 
stanza was requisite to make it a ‘‘ perfect fit.” Thus it 
was when the change was made : — 

I will paint her as I see her: 

times have the lilies blown 

Since she looked upon the sun.” 

The poetess, guiltless of any intention to cater for the 
wants of grown-up lovers, had written “Ten” in the space 
made blank by Philip’s gallantry and real ignorance of his 
charmer’s age. For the rest, the “lily-clear face,” the “fore* 
head fair and saintly,” the “ trail of golden hair,” the blue 
eyes, “ like meek prayers before a shrine,” the voice that 


THE EMPTY HEART,* 


OB, 


f86 


** Murmurs lowly 
As a silver stream may rur. 

Which yet feels you feel the sun,” 

were, we may safely assert, quite as much like peor Sarah 
^lien he sent the poem, as they were now like th^ portrait 
ne would — if put upon his oath — sketch of his unidcalized 
i .ucy. 

It was not unnatural then, in Lewis Hammond, to over- 
look in his present state, these glaring discrepancies in the 
picture as applied by nim. With a blanched and rigid coun- 
tenance he put all the things back into the box, shut it, and 
restored it to its place. Then he knelt on the floor and hid 
his face in his wife’s chair ; and there struggled out into the 
still air of the desecrated home-temple, made sacred by his 
love and her abiding, deep sobs from the strong man’s 
stricken heart — a grief as much more fearful than that of 
widowhood, as the desertion and dishonor of the loved one 
are worse than death* 


HU1K0. 


CHAPTER XV. 

It was the “grand hop” night at the headrquarters of 
iJewport fasliion. Sarah, characteristically indifferent to 
gayeties “made to order,” had determined not to appear 
below. The air of her room was fresh and pure, and a book, 
yet unread, lay under the lamp upon her table. Her sister 
and mother had withdrawn to dress, when Jeannie’s curly 
head peeped in at Mrs. Hammond’s door. Her features 
wore a most woe-begone expression. 

“ What has gone wrong, Jeannie ?” inquired Sarah. 

“ Why, mamma says that I will be in her way if I go into 
the ball-room ; and it will be so stupid to stay out the whole 
evening, while all the other girls can see the dancing and 
dresses, and hear the music. And sister Lucy says that chil- 
dren are ‘bores’ in company.” 

“ A sad state of things, certainly ! Perhaps I may per- 
luade mother to let you go.” 

“Yes; but if she does, she will sit close against the wall with 
a lot of other fat old ladies, and the}'^ will talk over my head, 
and squeeze me almost to death, besides rumpling my dress ; 
and I S3 want to wear my tucked pink grenadine, sister!” 

“And yoi would like to have me go down with you; if 
that it?” 

Jemmie’s eyes beamed doxightedly. “Oh, if you only 
would !” 

Sarah looked down into the eager face and saw, in antici 
pation her own little Belle imploring some boon, as impor 


188 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


tant to her, as easy to be granted by another as tliis, ano 
consented with a kiss. 

“ Run away and bring your finery here ! Mother is too 
1)118} to attend to you. Mary can dress you.” 

The order was obeyed with lightning speed ; and Sarah 
^1 ii] beholding in the excited child the foreshadowing of hei 
diuding’s girlhood, superintended the toilet, while she made 
herself ready. 

‘^What shall I wear, Jeannie?” she asked, carelessly, 
holding open the door of her wardrobe. 

“ Oh, that lovely fawn-colored silk, please ! the o!?e with 
the black lace flounces ! It is the prettiest color I evf:r saw; 
and I heard Mrs. Greyling tell another lady the night you 
wore it, when brother Lewis was here, you know, that it 
was one of the richest dresses in the room, modest as it 
looked, and that the flounces must have cost a penny !” 

“ Probably more !” 

Sarah proceeded to array herself in the fortunate robe 
that had won the praises of the fashionably distinguished 
Mrs. Greyling. Her abundant dark hair was lighted by two 
coral sprigs, which formed the heads of her hair-pins, and, 
liandkercbief and gloves in hand, she was taking a last sur- 
vey of Jeannie’s more brilliant costume, when there came a 
knock at the door. 

“Mr. Benson !” said Mary, unclosing it. 

“ May I come in ?” he asked. 

The tidy Mary had removed all trace of the recent tinng 
operations from the apartment, which was a compound of 
parlor and dressing-room, a necessary adjunct to the small 
chamber and smaller nursery, leading out of it, at the side 
and rear. 

“You raaj !” replied Sarah. “Here is an asphunt foi 
ball-room honors, who awaits your approval.” 

Mademoiselle, que vous etes charmante ! I am pene 


HtrSKS , 


189 


trated with profound admiration exclaimed the teasing 
brother-in-law, raising his hands in true melodramatic styla 

Jeannie laughed and blushed until her cheeks matched 
the grenadine. 

“ Mrs. Hunt told me that you had changed your mind, 
and intended to grace the festive scene with your presence,'* 
continued Philip, addressing Sarah. She and Lucy arc 
there, and the dancing has begun. I came to escort you 
and our fair debutante here — thav. is, unless some one else 
has offered his services and been accepted.” 

“ That is not likely, since Mr. Hammond left us in your 
care. Do not your fourfold duties oppress you ?” 

“ Not in the least. If all my charges were as chary of 
their calls upon me as you are, my time would hang heavily 
upon my hands. No one would imagine, from your reluc- 
tance to be waited upon, that you had been spoiled at home. 
If Mr. Hammond were here now, he would tell you to draw 
that shawl — ” 

‘‘It is an opera cloak!” interrupted Jeannie. 

“ A ball-cloak to-night, then, is it not ? I was saying that, 
although the night is not cool for sea air, you had better 
wrap that mantle about your chest and throat as we go 
out.” 

Just outside the door a waiter passed them with a note 
in his hand. He stopped, on seeing Philip. 

“ Mr. Benson ! I was on my way to your rooms with this, 
sir.” 

Philip stepped back within the parlor to read it bv 
hgiit. It was a line from a friend who had just arrived 
at another hotel, notifying him of this fact. It required no 
reply, and leaving it upon the table, he rejoined his com- 
panions, 

“ See mamma! Isn’t it just as I said ?” whispered Jean- 
nie, as she established herself beside her sister in a comfort* 


190 


THE EMPTST HEAET; OR 


able comer that commanded a view of the spacio is hall aim 
its gay, restless sea of figures. 

Sarah smiled at discovering her mother sand^/iched bo 
tween two portly dowagers ; one in purple, the other ir 
lavender silk; all three bobbing and waving in their ear 
nest confabulations, in a style that presented a ludicrously 
marked resemblance to the gesticulations of a group oi 
Muscovy ducks, on the margin of a mud-pudd e, held by 
them in their capacity of a joint-stock company. 

‘‘ I see that Lucy has taken the floor,” obsei ved Philip. 
‘‘ She will not thank me for any devoirs I could render her 
for the next three hours. If they get up any thing so hum- 
drum as quadrilles, may I ask the pleasure of your cOinpany 
for the set ?” 

‘If you wish it — and my dress is not too grave in nue'— ” 

“ And too decorous in its make, you were about to add, 
I presume he finished the sentence bluntly. “ It forms a 
refreshing contrast to the prevailing style around us.” 

Lucy here flitted into sight, and her very bare arms and 
shoulders pointed her husband’s strictures. A stool, brought 
into the room for the use of some child or invalid looker-on 
of the festivities, now stood empty under Sarah’s chair, and 
Philip, espying it, seized upon and drew it forth. When 
seated, his mouth was nearly on a level with Sarah’s ear. 

“This is pleasant !” he said. “We are quite as much 
solated from the rest of nankind as if we ^vere sitting 
among the heathery hillocks on Deal Beach. You do not 
love the visions of those tranquil sunny days as I do. You 
never allude to them voluntarily. Y et you have had less to 
convert your dreams into every-day actualities, tedious and 
prosaic, than I have. I stand in direful need of one of .he 
old lectures, inculcating more charity, and less study of 
complex motives and biassed tendencies in the machine wr 
call Man. Begin ! I am at your mercy.” 


HUSKS. 


19J 


have forgotten how to deliver them. I am out of 
prartice.” 

“That is not surprising. Your husband is behind tht 
age he lives in — and so are you. You two would make 
^jarnum’s fortune, could he ever persuade the public d 
our idiosyncrasies.” 

“ What are you talking about 

“Look around and through this room, and you will un 
derstand one part of my meaning. Do you remark tht 
preponderance of married over single belles? and that th<s 
most tenderly deferential cavaliers are husbands, and not 
dancing with their wives ? I could point out to you three 
men, leaders of the ton in this extremely reputable, emi- 
nently moral assembly, who, it is whispered among the 
knowing ones, are married, and, having left their domestic 
associations for a season of recreation, boldly attach them- 
selves to certain stylish young ladies here, and challenge 
observation, defy public censure, by their marked and in- 
creasing devotion. I meet them strolling along the beach 
in the morning ; riding together in the afternoon ; and 
when not engaged in this evening exhibition of toilet and 
muscle, you will find them pacing the moon or star-lit pi- 
azza, or, perchance, again sentimentalizing on the shore until 
the witching hour draws near.” 

“ Y ou surprise me !” 

“You have no right to be surprised. You have the same 
thing continually before you in your city. Every fashion- 
ible hotel or boarding-house can supply you with such 
flirtations by the dozen. A married woman who declines 
the polite services of all gentlemen, except her husband 
and near relatives, is a prude, with false scruples of propri 
ety and delicacy. Let her legal partner complain — ^he is 
cried out upon as a despot, and you can truofc the sweet an 
gel of an abused wife to elude his vigilance — \uolence, she 


192 


THE EMPTY HEART; 0»| 


terms it — for the future, without altering her coiulud 
in aught else. Do you see that pretty woman in blue—the 
one with the madonna-like face? Her tyrant is here but 
once a week — from Saturday until Monday — then hies back 
to the business he loves as well as she does her pleasure. 
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and ths 
forenoon of Saturday, any mustachioed puppy may walk 
talk, drive, and flirt with her — bask in the rays of those 
liquid orbs. When the rightful lord appears, she is demure 
as a nun, patient as a saint, dutifhl as Griselda, to him and 
him alone. Do you begin to understand why I congratu- 
lated you upon having a husband of the olden stamp ? why, 
I do from my heart felicitate my friend Hammond upon 
having gained, as a helpmeet, one of that nearly obsolete 
species — Woman !” 

Sarah’s embarrassment was painful, and but indifierently 
concealed. She felt that it was barely excusable, in consid- 
eration of his fraternal relation to her, for Philip to speak so 
plainly of this social blemish ; and altogether unpardonable, 
while he did not, or could not, prevent his wife’s participation 
in the questionable gayeties he assailed so unsparingly. Re- 
ply she could not, without implicating Lucy in her reproba- 
tion, and he must perceive her diificulty. This was the 
trouble that lay uppermost. At her heart’s core, the uneasy 
feeling she ever experienced in conversation with him ; the 
stirring of the entombed love, of whose actual death she 
had horrible misgivings ; the incongruous blending of past 
eniotion with present duty, were now aggravated by the 
enforced acceptance of unmerited praise. Her woman’s 
instinct, her experience as a wife, told her that the cause of 
the sinful recklessness, the contempt of the true spirit of 
the marriage tie, was not the fruit me rely of the vanity and 
thirst for adulation, to which it was properly attributed. 
With the recollection of her own life, the education she had 


HUSKS. 


19S 


•eceived at home, the hateful, yet, even to her independent 
spirit, resistless decrees of society, there swelled up within 
her bosom something akin to Philip’s bitter cynicism. Un 
der this spur, she spoke. 

‘‘ And from these signs of the times, you would argue ar 
inherent degeneracy of womanhood — a radical change in ili 
composition, such' as some anatomists tell us has taker plaoi 
in the structure of our bodies — our blood — our very teeth. 
A dentist, who filled a tooth for me the other day, imparted 
divers scientific items of information to me that may illus- 
trate your position. ^ Enamel, madam, is not what enamel 
was in the days of our ancestors !’ he affirmed pathetically ; 
‘ the color, the very ingredients of the bone, the calcareous 
base of the teeth, differ sadly from the indestructible molars 
of fifty ye/'j-s ago.’ At this passage of his jeremiade, he 
chanced to touch the nerve in the unhappy ‘ molar ’ he was 
excavating, and I am persuaded that I suffered as really 
as my grandmother would have done, had she sat in my 
place.” 

She paused, and beat time with her fingers on Jeannie’s 
shoulder to the wild, varying waltz that swept the giddy 
crowd around the room in fast and flying circles. 

“Your analogy asserts, then, that at heart women are 
alike m all ages ?” 

“ Why not, as well as men ?” 

“ Then why does not action remain the same, if that be 
true?” 

“ Because custom — fashion, if you prefer this name — ^ai 
unaccountable, irresponsible power — owing its birth often' 
@«t to accident or caprice, says, ‘ Do this !’ and it is done I 
be it to perpetrate a cravat-bow, a marriage, or a murder !” 

Another pause — in which music and dancers seemed 
sweeping on to sweet intoxication — so joyous in their 
abandon were the gushing strains ; so swift the whirl of 
9 


194 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB 


the living ring. The fingers played lightly and rapidly on 
J eannie^s plump shoulder — then rested on a half-beat. 

“ Yes !” She was looking towards the crowd, but her eye 
was fixed, and her accents slow and grave. Hearts live 
and hearts love, while time endures. The heart selects lU 
mate in life’s spring-time, with judgment as untaught as 
that of the silly bird that asks no companion but the one 
the God of Nature has bestowed upon it. But see you njt, 
my good brother” — she faced him, a smile wreathing her 
lip — a strange glitter in her eye — see you not to what 
woeful disorders these untrained desires, this unsophisticated 
following out of unregulated afifections would give rise? It 
would sap the foundations of caste ; level all wholesome dis- 
tinctions of society; consign the accomplished daughters of 
palatial halls — hoary wuth a semi-decade of years— to one- 
story cottages and a maid-of-all work; doom nice young 
men to the drudgery of business for the remainder of their 
wretched lives, to maintain wives w^hose dowries would not 
keep their lily-handed lords in French kids for a year ; cover 
managing mammas with ignominy, and hasten ambitious pa- 
pas to their costly vaults in — as Dickens has it — ‘ some gen- 
teel place of interment.’ Come what may of blasted hopes 
and wrecked hearts, the decencies of life must be observed. 
Every heart has its nerve — genuine, sensitive, sometmies 
vulgarly tenacious of life — but there are corrosives that will 
eat it out ; tine, deadly wires, that can probe and tortur<^ 
and extract it. And when the troublesome thing is finally 
gotten rid of, there is an end to all obstacles to judicious 
2ourl8hips and eligible alliances !” She laughed scornfully, 
and I'hilip recoiled, without knowing why he did so, as he 
heard her. 

That is all very well, when the nature of the contract is 
andentood on both sides,” he said, gloomily. “ I doubt, 
however, whether the beautiful economy of your system 


flUSKB. 


196 


will be appreciated by those whose living hearts are bound 
to the bloodless plaster-casts you describe.” 

“ These accidents, will occur in spite of caution on the 
part of the best managers of suitable' mai’riages. By far 
the larger proportion of the shocks inflicted upon polite cir- 
cles arise from this very cause. Pygmalion grows weary 
of wooing his statue, and wants sympathy in his disappoint- 
ment and loneliness.” 

The dance w'as ended. The fantastic variations of the 
waltz were exchanged for a noble march — pealing through 
the heated rooms like a rush of the healthful sea-breeze. 
The spark died in Sarah’s eye. Her voice took its habit- 
ual pitch. 

“ I have permitted myself to become excited, and, T am 
afraid, have said many things that I had no right to think — 
much less to utter. If my freedom has displeased you, I am 
sorry.” 

‘‘ The error — if error there were — was mine,” rejoined 
Philip. “ I led the conversation into the channel ; you, af- 
ter awhile, followed. I believe there is no danger of our 
misunderstanding each other.” 

“ Darby and Joan ! good children in the corner!” cried 
Lucy, flushed with exercise and radiant with good humor, 
as she promenaded past them leaning on the arm of a young 
West Pointer, a native Southerner and an acquaintance of 
Philip’s. If his wife must flirt and frolic, he was watchful 
that she did not compromise him by association with doubt- 
ful characters. On several occasions, the advances of gay 
gentlemen, whose toilets were more nearly irreproachaoU 
than tlieir reputations, had been checked by his cool and 
significant resumption of the husband’s post beside ths 
beUe, and, if need existed, by the prompt withdrawal of 
the unwilling lady from the scene. The cadet laughed, andj 
convinced that she had said a witty thing, Lucy swam by 


196 


THE EMPTY HEART; OK 


“ The eotnmon sense of our tropes, rodomontades, and al 
legorios is this 1” said Philip, biting his lip, and speaking it 
^ hard tone. The only safe ground in marriage is mutual, 

V ianent affection. You meant to convey the idea tliat if 
^ <»f these dressy matrons, humming around our ears, 
,! in cere, abiding love for her husband — and eacli ci 
gallant Benedicts the right kind of regard for his 
. ( iidcd Beatrice, the vocation of us corner censors would 
oe gone?” 

Well said, Mr. Interpreter I” she responded, in affected 
jest. 

“ This point settled, will you take my arm for a turn 
Lhi'ough the room before the next set is formed? They are 
talking of quadrilles. I shall claim your promise if a set is 
made up, unless you are not courageous enough to brave the 
public sneer by dancing with your brother. Come, Jeamnie, 
and walk with us.” 

Two sets of quadrilles were arranged at different ends of 
the saloon. Philip led Sarah through one, with Lucy — 
who considered it a capital joke — and her partner vis-d-vis 
to them, Jeannie, ineanwdiile, remaining by her mother. 

The summer nights were short ; and, when the dance was 
over, Sarah intimated to her younger sister the propriety 
of retiring. Mrs. Hunt’s head ached, and she esteemed the 
sacrifice comparatively light, therefore, that she, too, had to 
leave the revels and accompany the child to her chamber. 
Sarah’s apartments were on the same floor, several doors 
fiirther on. Having said ‘‘ Good-night ” to the others, she 
and Philip walked slowly along the piazza, light as day in 
the moonbeams, until they reached her outer room, the 
f^arlor. 

I liope you will experience no ill effects from youi di»^ 
sipation,” said Pliilij), in playful irony. ‘‘In a lady of youl 
staid habits, this disposition to gayety is alarming. Abso* 


HUSKS. 


191 


Intely eleven o’clock ! What will Hammoncl say when he 
hears the story ? Good night ! Don’t let your conscience 
keep you awake !” 

Sarali opened the door softly, that she might not startif 
the baby -sleeper in the inner room. The lamp was 8hinir.> 
brightly, and by it sat — her huaband J 


THE EMPTY HB4RT; 0m 


m 


CHAPTER XVI* 

Lewis had entered his wife’s room within fifteen mmiitea 
after she left it He looked so ill and weary that the 
girl, Mary, gave a stifled scream of fright and surprise. 

Are you sick, sir she asked hastily, as he threw off 
his hat, and wiped his pale forehead. “ Shall I tell Mrs. 
Hammond that you are here ? She went down to the ball 
room aw^hile ago.” 

‘‘ What did you say ? No !” replied he, shortly. 

His frown, rather than his tone, silenced her. He had 
picked up the envelope Philip had dropped on the table, 
and his face darkened still more. Too proud to question a 
servant of her mistress’ actions and associates, he believed 
that he had gathered from this mute witness all that was 
needful to know. As a privileged habitue of the cosy bou- 
doir he had been at such pains to procure and make fit for 
his wife’s occupancy, another had sat here and read his 
evening mail, while awaiting her leisure ; careless of ap- 
pearances, since the deceived one would not be there to 
notice them, had tossed this note down with as much free 
lorn as he would have done in his own apartment. 

Through the open windows poured the distant strains of 
the band ; and, seized by a sudden thought, he caught up 
ais hat and strode out, along piazzas and through halls, to 
Ihe entrance-door of the ball saloon. As Sarah’s ill-fortune 
>rdamt^l it, the piercing glance that ran over and bey end 
♦he crowd of spectators and dancers detected her at the in- 


HTTSKS. 


199 


fitant of Philip’s taking his lowly seat at her side. Jeannie’s 
pink attire was concealed by the drapery of a lady, whose 
plaiic in the set then forming was directly in front of her. 
Lewis saw but the two, virtually Ute-drUte ; and, as he ol> 
iained fleeting glimpses of them through the shifting throng 
narked Philip’s energetic, yet confidential discourse, and 
the intentness with which she listened, until, warmed or ex 
cited by his theme, Sarah lifted her downcast eyes and 
spoke, with what feeling and effect her auditor’s varying 
expression showed. 

The gazer stood there like a statue, unheeding the sur- 
prised and questioning looks cast by passers-by upon his 
travelling-dress, streaked with dust — his sad and settled 
visage, so unbefitting the scene within — while Philip made 
the tour of the room, with Sarah upon his arm, until they 
took their stations for the dance; he, courteous and atten- 
tive — she, smiling and happy, more beautiful in her huS' 
band’s eyes than her blonde sister opposite ; and he could 
stay no longer. If Mary had thought him sick and cross 
at his former entrance, she considered him savage now, for 
one who was ordinarily a kind and gentle master. 

“You can go to your room!” he ordered, not advised* 
“ I will sit up for Mrs. Hammond 1” 

“ I have slept in the nursery, sir, while you were away.” 

“ That cannot be to night. I will find you some other 
place.” 

He had no intention that the anticipated conversation 
with his wife should be overheard. 

“ I can stay with a friend of mine, sir, only a few door 
off.” 

“Very well!” 

Quickly and quietly the nurse arranged the night-lamp 
and the child’s food, that her mistress might have no troublf 
during her absence, and went out 


200 


THE EMPTY HEART; OK. 


Baby Belle slumbered on, happily wandering through the 
guileless mazes of baby dream-land ; one little arm, bared 
from the sleeve of her gown, thrown above her head — the 
hand of the other cradling her cheek. The father ventured 
to press a light kiss upon the red lips. In his desolation, 
he craved this trifling solace. The child’s face was c<m 
tor ted by an expression of discomfort, and, still dreaming, 
she murmured, in her inarticulate language, some pettish 
expression of disgust. 

My very child shrinks from me I It is in the blood !” 
said the unhappy man, drawing back from the crib. 

If his resolution had waned at sight of the sleeper, it was 
fixed again when he returned to his chair in the outer room. 
He raised his head from his folded arms when he heard 
Philip and Sarah approaching, but did not otherwise alter 
his position. The low tone of their parting words — one 
soon learned by the sojourners in hotels and watering-places, 
where thin partitions and ventilators abound — was, to him, 
the cautiously repressed voice of affectionate good-nights. 
But one clause was distinct — “ What will Hammond say, 
when he hears the story ?” They jested thus of him, then. 
One of them, at least, should learn ere long what he would 
say. 

“ Lewis ! you here !” 

Sarah changed color with amazement and vague alarm — 
emotion that paralyzed her momentarily. Then, as she dis 
cerned the tokens of disorder in his dress and countenance, 
she hurried forward. 

‘‘What has brought you so unexpectedly? Ai*e 
sick ? Has hny thing happened ?” 

He did not rise ; and, resting her hand on his shoulder, 
she stooped for a kiss. But his stern gaze never moved 
from liers — anxious and inquiring — and his lips were like 
Btone. 


HUSKS. 


201 


Lewis, speak to me ! If you liave dreadful news to 
lell me, for pity’s sake, do not keep mo in suspense !” 

I have nothing to say that will be new to you,” be said 
without relaxing his hard, cold manner, “and not a groat 
leal that ought to have been kept back from me when J 
visbed to marry you, believing that you had a heart to 
give me with your hand.” 

As if struck in the face, Sarah sank back into a chair, 
speechless and trembling. 

“Yes! had you been sincere with me them, grieved and 
disappointed as I would have felt, I would have respected 
you the more, and loved you none the less for the dis- 
closure. But when, after a year and a half of married life, 
I learn that the woman I have loved and trusted with my 
whole soul — from whom I have newer concealed a thought 
that it could interest her to know — has all the while been 
playing a false part — vowing at the altar to love me and 
me alone, when she secretly idolized another ; bearing my 
name, living beneath my roof, sleeping in my bosom — yet 
thinking of, and caring for treasuring his keepsakes as 
the most precious of her possessions — is it strange that, 
when the tongue of a vulgar gossip proclaims my shame in 
my hearing, and other evidence proves what I thought was 
his vile slander to be true as gospel — is it strange, I say, 
that I am incensed at the deception practised upon me — at 
the infamous outrage of my dearest hopes — my most holy 
feelings 

She threw herself at his feet, clasped his knees, and im^ 
plored him, chokingly, to “forgive” her. “Oh! if you 
knew vrhat I have suffered !” 

“What you have suffered!” He folded his arms and 
looked sorrowfully down at her crouching figure. “ Yesl 
you were not by nature coarse and unfeeling ! The violence 
you have committed upon your heart and every principle of 

9 * 


202 


THE EMPTY HEART OHj 


delicHCj aid truth must have cost y m paia Then you 
loved hiui 

‘‘Once! a long while ago!” said Sarah, hiding her fac« 
fcn her hands. 

“ Take caic !’ There was no softness now in his tone. 
‘ Remember that T have seen you together dav by day, and 
tiiat glances and actions, unnoticed at the time in my stupid 
blindness, recur to me now with terrible meaning. For 
once, speak tlie true voice of feeling, and own what I know 
already, that all the love you ever had to give belongs still 
to your sister’s husband 1” 

“ I will speak the truth !” Sarah arose and stood before 
him — face livid and eyes burning. “ I did love this man ! 
I married you, partly to please my parents, partly because 
I found out that by some means my secret had fallen into 
unscrupulous hands, and I was mad with dread of its ex 
posure ! It seemed to me that no worse shame could come 
upon me than to have it trumpeted abroad that I had 
bestowed my love unsought, and was ready to die because 
it was slighted. I have learned since that it is far, far worse 
to live a lie — to despise myself! Oh! that I had died 
then !” She battled with the emotion that threatened to 
overwhelm her, and went on. “ Once bound to you, it has 
been my hourly endeavor to feel and act as became the 
faitliful wife of a kind, noble man. If, sometimes, I have 
erred in thought — if my feelings have failed me in the mo- 
ment of trial — yet, in word and deed, in look and gesture, I 
have been true to you. No one have I deceived more 
thoroughly than Philip Benson. He never suspected my 
unfortunate partiality for himself, he believes me still, what 
I would give worlds to become in t^ruth, your loyal, loving 
wife ! It is well that you know the truth at last. I do not 
ask you how you have obtained the outlines of a disgrace- 
ful story, that I have tried a thousand times to tell you, but 


HUSKS. 


208 


prevented by the fear of losing yonr favor forever 
This is my poor defence — not against your charges, but in 
palliati.'^n of the sin of which they justly accuse me. I can 
say nothing more. Do with me as you will !” 

“It is but just to myself that you should hear the cir 

mstances which accidentally revealed this matter to me.” 

Ho narrated the scene at the restaurant, and the discovery 
of the evening. He evinced neither relenting nor sympathy 
in the recital. Her confession had extinguished the last ray 
of hope, cherished, though unacknowledged by himself, 
that she might extenuate her error or give a more favorable 
construction to the evidence against her. It was not singu- 
lar that, in the reaction of disappointment, he was ready to 
believe that he had not heard all ; to imagine that he could 
perceive throughout her statement a disposition to screen 
Philip, that was, in itself, a proof of disingenuousness, if 
not deliberate falsehood. She denied that he had ever been 
aware of her attachment or had reciprocated it. What 
meant then those words — “ hopes in time to have a nearer 
claim ?” what those impassioned verses ? what the linking 
of their initials within the shell ? the motto on the wooden 
tablet? While these subtle queries were insinuated into 
his soul by some mocking spirit, he concluded the history 
of the discovery of the casket. 

“ I have never opened it since the night before I was 
married,” said Sarah, with no haste of self-justification. 
“ I put it into the drawer the day after we went to ou 
house. It has not been unlockdd from that day to this.” 

“ Why keep it at all, unless as a memento of one still dea? 
to you ?” 

“ I felt as if I had buried it. I said to myself : ‘ If iht 
time ever comes when I can disinter these relics and show 
them to my husband, without a pang or fear, as mementoes 
of a dead and almost forgotten folly, he shall destroy them 


204 


THE EMPTY HEA.RT; OR, 


and I rihixll have gained a victory that will insure my life 
long happiness.’ 

“And that time has never arrived.” 

She would have spoken, but her tongue proved trait oioua 
Slio crimsoned and was silent. 

Lewis smiled drearily. “You see that I know you bet 
,er than you do yourself. It is well, as you have said, that 
I know all at last. I pity you ! If I could, I would release 
you from your bondage. As it is, I will do all that I can 
for this end.” 

“Never!” cried Sarah, shuddering. “ Have you forgot- 
ten our child ?” 

“ I have not !” His voice shook &r a second. “ She is 
all that unites us now. For the sake of her future — her 
good name — an open separation ought to be avoided, if 
possible, — if it be inevitable, your conduct must not be the 
ostensible cause. To quiet malicious tongues, you must 
remain here awhile longer under your mother’s care. To 
accomplish the same end, I must appear once more in public, 
and on apparently friendly terms with — your brother-in-law. 
When your mother returns to the city, you had best go, 
too, and to your own house. Your brother Robert is now 
sixteen years old — steady and manly enough to act as your 
protector. Invite him to stay with you, and also Jeannie, 
if you find it lonely.” 

“ What are you saying ? Where will you be that you 
»peak of my choosing another protector ?” 

“A very incompetent one I have proved myself to be!^ 
he returned, with the same sad smile. “I have not beei. 
able to shield you frois. invidious reports; still less te 
save you from yourself. I sail for Europe day after to- 
morrow.” 

“ Lewis, you will not ! If you ever loved me, do not 
desert me and our child now ! I will submit to any punish 


HUSKS. 


205 


ment but this !” She cluug anew to his knee’? as sh« 
poured out her prayer. 

N^ot a month ago she had turned pale with fright at 
the suggestion of this voyage. It was sheer acting theyi I 
%hy not now? 

Objections are useless !” he said. “ My arrangementis 
are made. I have passed my word.” 

“ But you will not leave me in anger ! Say that you will 
forgive me ! that you will return soon, and this miserable 
night be forgotten !” 

‘‘ Shall I tell you when I will return ?” He raised her 
head, and looked straight into her eyes. When you write 
to me, and tell me that you have destroyed the love-tokens 
in that box ; when you bid me come back for your sake — 
?iot for our child’s ! Until then, I shall believe that my 
presence would be irksome to you. It is necessary for our 
house to have a resident partner in England. It is my ex- 
pectation to fill that place for some time to come ; it shall 
be for you to say how long.” 

Bowed as Sarah’s spirit ivas beneath the burst of the 
long' dreaded storm and her accusing conscience, her 
womanly pride revolted at this speech. She had humbled 
herself in the dust at the feet of a man w nom she did not 
love ; had borne meekly his reproaches ; submitted dumbly 
to the degrading suspicions that far transcended her actual 
sin : but as the idea of her suing servilely for the love she 
had never yet valued ; of him, indifferent and independent, 
awaiting afar off for her petition — hers, whom he had 
abandoned to the scornful sneers of the keen-wiUed hyenas? 
of society ; to the cross-examination of her distrustful rela 
tives; the stings of remorse; left in one word to hers^df!-^ 
as this picture grew up clearly before her mind, the tide of 
feeling turned. 

*‘You reject my prayers and despise rny tears!” she said| 


206 


THE E P T Y TT R A U T ; OB, 


proudly. ‘‘ You refuse to accept of my bumiliation. Y ot you 
do not doubt me, as you would have me believe that you 
do! Eke you would not dare to trust me — the keeper of 
your honor and your child’s fair name — out of your sight ! 
I throw back the charge in your teeth, and tell you that 
your conduct gives it the lie ! I have asked you — shame 
on me that I did! — to continue to me the shelter of your 
name and presence ; to shield me, a helpless woman, more 
unhappy than guilty, from the ban of the world ; and you 
deny me every thing but a contemptible shadow of re 
spectability, which the veriest fool can penetrate. I would 
not have you suppose that your generous confidence in my 

> integrity” — she brought out the words with scathing con- 
i tempt — “ will deter me from sinking to the level you are 
j pleased to assign me. If the native dignity of my woman- 
j hood, the principles I inherit from my father, my love for 
j my innocent babe do not hold me back from ruin, be as- 
I sured that the hope of winning your approval will not. To 
i you I make no pledges of reformation ; I offer but one 
J promise. If y^ou choose to remain abroad until I, in spirit, 
; kiss your feet, and pray you to receive a love such as most 
j men are glad to win by assiduity of attention, and every 
I pleasing art — which you would force into being by wilful 

> and revengeful absence — you will never see your native 
; land again until the grass grows upon my grave !” 

\ She paused for breath, and continued more slowly. 
While your child lives, and I remain her guardian, I will 
use your means for her maintenance — will reside in your 
house. If she dies, or you take her from me, I will not 
owe you my support for a single day more !” 

L(3wis grew pallid to his lips ; but he, too, was proud, 
and his stubborn will was called into bold exercise, 
i “ Very well ! It is in your choice to accede to my propo« 
i iiitions, or not. A share in all that I have is yours; not 

i 

I 

1 


HTJSKS. 


207 


dtiring tb4> child’s life, but as long as you Lre. Befor€ 
I leave Amen i, I shall deposit for you in your father’s 
bank a sum wb ch, I hope, you will find sufficient to maii> 
tain you in comfort. Your father will be my executor ir. 
this matter. I shall not confide to him the peculiar circum 
stances of my departure, leaving you at liberty to act in 
this respect, as in every thing else, according to the dictates 
of your will and pleasure. At the end of a certain term of 
years specified by law, you can, if you wish, procure a 
divorce, on the ground of my wilful and continued desertion 
of you ; in which case, the provision for your support will 
remain unchanged. As to the child — the mother’s is the 
strongest claim. I shall never take hei from you. Do nol 
let me keep you up longer. It is late !” 

With a silent inclination of the head, she withdrew, and 
he cast himself upon the sofa, there to lie during the few 
hours of the night that were yet unspent. 

He had arisen, and was standing at the window when 
Sarah entered in the morning. But for the dark shadows 
under the eyes, and the tight-drawn look about the mouth, 
she appeared as usual ; and her “ Good-morning,” if cold, 
was yet polite. 

“ I imagine,” she said, as the gong clashed out its second 
call, “that you wish me to accompany you to breakfast, 
and to preserve my ordinary manner towards you when 
others are by. Am I right ?” 

“ You are. This is all I ask. The effort will not be a 
tedious one. I leave here at noon.” 

Arm in arm they directed their steps towards the great 
dining-hall — ^to the view of the spectator as comfortable 
and happy a pair as any that pursued that route on that 
summer morning. Together they sat down at table, and 
Mr. Hammond ordered “ his lady’s” breakfast with bis 
own. Mrs. Hunt bustled in shortly after they were seated, 


208 


THE EMPTY HEABT; OB, 


full of wonderment at having, heard from Sarah’s maid ol 
her master’s unexpected arrival; while Jeannie gave /ds 
hand a squeeze as hearty as was the welcome in her smiling 
face. The Bensons were always late. So much the better. 
There were more people present to observe the cordial 
meeting between the brothers-in-law, made the more eon 
spicuous by Philip’s surprise. The genuineness of his good 
spirits, his easy, unembarrassed manner, was tne best veil 
that could have been devised for Sarah’s constraint and 
Lewis’s counterfeit composure. 

It did not escape Philip’s eye that Sarah ate nothing, and 
spoke only to avoid the appearance of singularity ; and he 
believed that he had discovered the origin of her trouble 
when Lewis communicated his purpose of foreign travel. 
When the burst of surprise subsided, the latter tried suc- 
cessfully to represent his plan as a business necessity. 
Lucy, who never saw an inch beyond her nose — morally and 
mentally speaking — except when her intuitions were 
quickened by self-love, was the questioner most to be 
dreaded. 

“ Why don’t you go with him ?” she inquired of her 
sister. “ He should not stir one step without me, if I were 
in your place. Only think ! you might spend six month? 
in Paris!” 

IIow would Baby Belle relish a sea voyage I” returned 
Sarah. 

‘‘ Nonsense ! flow supremely silly ! One would suppose 
that she was the only member of the family whose comfort 
was to be consulted. Rather than expose her to the possi 
bility of inconvenience, you will deprive yourself of profit 
ajul pleasure, and be separated from your husband for nobod j 
knows how long. This shows how much these modi 1 mar 
ried people really care for one another. When put to thi 
test they are no better than poor sinners, whom every 


HUSKS, 


209 


body calls flirts. Phil, are those mufflns warm? This on« 
of mine has grown cold while I was talking.” 

‘‘ How are the horses, Benson ?” inquired Lewis. ‘‘ Have 
they been exercised regularly ?” 

“ Yes, and are in capital order. You could have left m 
£») more acceptable reminder of yourself than those same 
Sne bays.” 

‘‘If you have no other engagement, suppose we have 
them up before the light carriage after breakfast, and take 
a short drive.” 

“Agreed, with all my heart! unless Mrs. Hammond 
quarrels with me for robbing her of a portion of your last 
morning with her.” 

“She will forgive you!” Lewis rejoined, to spare her the 
efibrt of reply. 

From her wdndow Sarah saw them whirl off along the 
beach in sight of the hundreds of spectators on the sands 
and about the hotels, and recognized the ingenuity of this 
scheme for proclaiming the amicable feeling between the 
two. 

“ But one more scene, and the hateful mockery is over !” 
thought the wife, as she heard her husband’s step outs' de 
the door on his return. 

She snatched a paper from the table, and seemed absorh ed 
in its contents, not looking up at his entrance. Lewis mi)d^3 
several turns through the room, sighed heavily, and orce 
pausea, as if about to address her, but changed his mh.d. 

Then sounded from without the fresh, gurgling laugh of 
a child, and the nurse came in w ith the baby~r anc 
bright — from her morning walk on the shore Sh< alfnosl 
sprang from Mary’s hold at sight of her fluher, t nd dis^ 
Diissmg the woman wdth a word, he took his dar ng intc 
his arms, and sat down behind his wdfe. InflexiK f siJien, 
Sarah tried not to listen, as she would not see tl m ; but 


210 


THE EMPTY HEARTj OK 


slie heard every sound : the child’s soft coo of satirfliciion 
as she nestled in the father’s bosom ; the many kisses he iin. 
nrinted upon her pure face^nd mouth with what agony Sarah 
well knew — the irregular respiration, sometimes repressed 
nntil its breaking forth was like sobs ; and the proud, 
auserable heart confessed reluctantly that, in one respect 
his share of their divided lot was heavier than hers. She 
was not to witness his final resignation of his idol. Under 
color of summoning Mary, he carried the infant from the 
room, and came back without her. 

“It is time for me to go now, Sarah !” 

His voice was calm, and its firmness destroyed what 
slender encouragement she might have drawn from the 
scene with his child, to hope for some modification of his 
resolution. 

“ Will you write to me, at regular intervals, to give me 
news of Belle ?” 

“ Certainly, if such is your wish.” 

“ And yourself? you will be careful of your health, will 
you not? And, if I can ever serve you in any way, you 
will let me know ?” 

“It is not likely that you can ; thank you.” 

There was a silence of some moments. Sarah stood 
playing with the tassel of her morning robe, pale and com- 
posed. 

“Sarah!” Lewis took her hand. “We have both been 
hasty, both violent 1 Unfeeling as you think me, and as I 
may have seemed in this affair, believe me that it almost 
kills me to part from you so coldly. It is not like me to 
retract a determination, but if you will say now what you 
did last night — ‘ Do not go !’ I will stay, and be as good a 
husband to you as I can. Shall we not forgive, and try to 
forget ?” 

The demon of resentful pride was not so easily exorcisoA 


H U 8 X 8 . 


211 


At a breath repentance — a s igsrestion of compromise, 
the fell legion rallied an impregnable phalanx. She was 
frozen, relentless ; her eyes, black and haughty, met hi» 
with an answer her tongue could not have framed in wouh 

‘‘ I have nothing to say !” 

‘‘‘Nothing!’ The ocean must then separate us for 
years — it may be forever !” 

“ It was your choice. I will not reverse it.” 

“Not if you knew that if you let me go I would never 
return ?” 

“Not if I knew that you would never return !” 

Without another word, without a farewell look, or thi? 
hand-grasp mere strangers exchange, he left her there — the 
stony monument of her ill-directed life and affeetionfl ; 
the victim of a orldly mother and a backbiting tongue 1 


dl2 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB 


CHAPTER XVII 

How gay Mrs. Hammond has grown lately I” said Mrs, 
Greyling, the fashionable critic of the House drawing- 

room. Do you see that she is actually waltzing to-night ? 
She moves well, too ! That pearl-colored moire antique is 
handsome, and must have cost every cent of nine dollars a 
yard. She is partial to heavy silks, it seems. It gives an 
air of sameness to her dress ; otherwise she shows very tol- 
erable taste.” 

“ I have heard it said that she was a regular dowdy before 
she was married,” observed Mrs. Farton, who was also on 
the “ committee of censure” — a self-appointed organization, 
which found ample employment in this crowded nest of 
pleasure-seekers. ‘‘ Her husband is perpetually making he** 
presents, and she dresses to please him.” 

Humph ! I distrust these pattern couples ! ‘ My husband 
doesn’t approve of my doing this — won’t hear of my acting 
so!’ are phrases easily learned, and sound so fine that one 
soon falls into the habit of using them. What a flirt Mrs. 
Benson is! That is the fifth young man she has danc(‘' 
\^ith this evening. I pity her husband and baby !” 

“He does not look inconsolable! I tell you what ni)’ ir 
tion is: he may love his wife— of course he do.es — bui I 
admires her sister more. See how he watches her ! M i h 
Tomes told me that she was standing near him the first timt 
Mrs. Hammond waltzed, and that he seemed real worried 
When the set was through, she came to look for a seat, and 


fifdSKS. 


213 


he got one for her. As she took it, he said something to 
her which Mrs. Tomes could not hear, but she laughed out 
in his face as saucy as could be, and said : ‘ Oh, I am learning 
when I am in Rome to do as Romans do ! Doesn’t my elder 
sister set me the example ” 

“ He could say nothing then,” said Mrs. Greyling. “ Those 
girls played their cards well. The Hunts have very little, 
if an}' thing, besides the father’s salary, and the family was 
very obscure.” 

Mrs. Grey ling’s paternal progenitor was an opulent soap- 
boiler, who was not ashamed, during her childhood, to drive 
an unsavory cart from one kitchen door to another. But he 
counted his thousands now by the hundred, and his children 
ranked, as a consequence, among the “ upper ten.” 

She continued her charitable remarks : Somehow the old 
lady contrived to keep up the appearance of wealth, and 
married both daughters off before their second season. Mr. 
Benson is reputed to be rich ; but for that matter these 
Southern planters are all said to be rolling in gold. Mr. 
Hammond is certainly making money. Mr, Greyling says 
he is a splendid business man.” 

“He sailed for Europe a week ago, you know.” 

“Yes; and since then madame has been the belle of the 
ball. The old story — ‘ When the cat is away, the mice will 
play.’” 

“ Sarah,” said Philip, an hour later, “ will you walk on 
ihe balcony with me ? Y ou are heated, and the air is baimy 
IS Georgian breezes. It will do you good.” 

“ Are you going to scold me she asked, archly, before 
she would take his arm. 

“No. I have no right to do it if I had the disposi 
tion.” 

There was no moon ; but the sky was strewed thickly 
with stars, and the white foam of the surf caught and held 


214 


THE EMPTY HEART; OK, 


tremulously tlie sparkles from the bright watchers alove* 
Philip did not appear disposed to converse, and Sarah 
waited for him to begin. Meanwhile, they strolled on and 
on, until the murmur of the ocean was louder than the 
music of the saloon band. The sea moaned to the stars, as 
it had done to the sunlesi^ July heavens on that day so 
meinort,ble in the history of one of the pair — the day of 
sliip wreck stories and a real shipwreck — none the less 
disastrous, that the treasures and their loss were hidden 
from all but the bereaved one. 

To many it is appointed to lead two lives : to think and 
feel as well as to act a double part ; to separate, as inexorably 
as human will can decree, past hopes and joys — past sorrows, 
and, if practicable, past memories from the thoughts and 
emotions of the to-d‘ay in which they exist. Thousands 
keep up the barrier until death ends the need of watchfulness 
and labor ; the coffin-lid covers the faithful mask that has 
smiled so patiently and so long above an aching heart. 
Yet dammed up passion is a dangerous thing. If hearts 
were so constituted that they could be drained like pestilen- 
tial marshes, the flood conducted off in harmless and straight 
channels, then, indeed, might hypocrisy rejoice, and sleek 
decorum sit down at ease. As it is, genteel propriety and 
refined reticence are perpetully endangered by the unfore- 
seen swell of some intermittent spring, or the thawing of 
some ice-bound stream, that is liable to overleap or tear 
away the dike — ingulfing in an instant the elaborate struc- 
tures years of toil have cheaply purchased. 

Such was the moment when, withdrawing her hand from 
Philip’s arm, Sarah struck suddenly — fiercely — upon het 
breast, and cried : Oh I why cannot I die and end this mis* 
ery !” 

“ Sarah !” 

I say I can bear it no longer 1 Others do not suffei t hus I 


HUSKS. 


215 


If they do, they die, or lose their reaso?^ x mil not endure 
it, I telJ you !” 

Sister !” 

“ Do not call me by that name, Philip Betson I Yon 
know better !” 

She leaned forward on the balcony railing, her eyes fixed 
on the sea. Her deep, hurried breathing was like the pan I 
of some worried animal, gathering strength, and, with it, 
courage for renewed conflict. To her last Avords the mys- 
terious plaint of the sea lent meaning. Philip, too, remem- 
bered that barren shore, the tumbling breakers, the solitary 
sea-bird’s labored flight landward. Was this his work ? It 
was but a flicker of truth — dashed out the next second by a 
blow of indignant will. 

You may forbid me to address you by this title, Sarah ; 
but you cannot hinder me from sympathizing in your sorrow, 
and trying to befriend you. If my companionship is unwel- 
come, allow me to conduct you to your room. I cannot 
leave you alone here, where there is continual passing.” 

“ Y ou are right. Regard for appearances is the one thing 
needful,” she said, mockingly. I must be a dull scholar, 
if I have not learned that. I am sane again now — fit to as- 
sociate with other sane people. If you please, we will go to 
the ball-room instead of up-stairs. I am not a candidate for 
solitary confinement yet !” 

‘‘ Mrs. Hammond, I heard a gentleman inquiring anxious- 
ly for you just now !” called out a lady, in passing. “He 
said that you promised to dance with him.” 

“ I did. Thank you for reminding me. A little fasteij 
my good brother !” 

She hurried him into the saloon, where they were met 
immediately by her would-be partner. Philip, bewildered 
and uneasy, watched her motions through the evolutions of 
the lance. She talked rapidly and animatedly, keeping hef 


/ 

216 THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 

cavalier in a broad smile, and confirming her lately won 
reputation of a wit. Her eyes shone ; her color was high ; she 
was ‘‘ really handsome” — as the “ censure committee” had 
occasion to remember at a later day, when it was spoken of 
in a very different tone from that employed by a member of 
the distinguished sisterhood in addressing Mrs. Hunt on this 
night. 

‘‘You are a fortunate mother, my dear madam, to have 
two such brilliant daughters. They eclipse the girls en- 
tirely,” 

‘‘ I have nothifig to complain of in ray children, ma’am. 
I done — I did my best by them, and they have repaid me a 
thousandfold.” 

“ Now, I am ready !” said Sarah to her brother-in-law. 
“ I release you, Mr. Burley !” waving her hand to her late 
attendant as a princess might to a courtier. 

Vexed and disturbed by her unsettled manner and queer 
freaks, Philip gave her his arm, and conducted her through 
the throng. 

“ Lewis has had fair winds, and must now be nearing the 
end of his voyage,” he remarked, as they sauntered along 
the piazza. 

“ Ah ! he is on the sea to-night ! How strange ! I had 
not thought of that I” 

“ I see nothing wonderful in the idea, as he has not had 
time to cross the Atlantic since he left these shores,” return- 
ed Philip, dryly. “ The oddest thing I can think of at pres- 
ent is yon rself, Sarah !” 

“ I am aware of that, Philip. Do not speak harshly to 
me I You may be sorry for it some day.” 

lliey were at her door. Her softened manner moved h m, 
and as she offered her hand, he took it with fraternal warmtk 

“ Forgive me, if I was rough ! I have not understood 
you this evening.” 


HUSKS. 


217 


“ It is not likely that you ever will. Time was- but it is 
folly to allude to that now ! Think of rne as kindly as you 
can will you ? You have wounded me sometimes, but 
never knowingly. I cannot say that of many others with 
whom I have had dealings. Good-night.” 

The little parlor was still. Mrs. Hammond nev^er kepi 
her maid up to assist in her disrobing, if she intended re- 
maining out until a late hour. Nurse and child were quiet 
in the adjacent nursery. Closing the door of communication, 
Sarah stripped her hair and arms of their ornaments ; took 
off her diamond pin, then her rings, and laid them away in 
her jewelry case ; divested herself of her rich dress, and drew 
from her wardrobe a plain, dark wrapper, which she put on. 
Next she sat down at her writing-desk, selected a sheet of 
paper, and wrote a single line — when a thought struck her, 
and she stopped. A momentary irresolution ended in her 
tearing off a strip containing what she had penned, and 
holding it in the flame of the lamp until it was consumed. 

Best not ! best not !” she muttered. Doubt may bring 
comfort to the one or two who will need it. Let them 
doubt! Save appearances if you can, my poor mother 
would say.” A smile of unutterable scorn glimmered over 
her face. She pushed away the desk and walked to the 
window. 

From the distant ball-room the throbbing waves of music 
still rolled past on the summer air, and blent with them 
was the solemn undertone of the surf. Did men call its 
mighty voice a monotone ? To her it was eloquent cf many 
and awful things — not frightful. What was there of terror 
m thoughts of ”est, endless sleep, rocked for ages by the 
rising and falling tide, hushed into dreamless repose by the 
music of the billows? No more of a vain and wearisome 
life ; no more baffled aspirations and crushed affections ; no 
more disheartening attempts to find and reach the right— 
10 




THE EMPTY heart; OB 


to follow in the steep, rugged path of duty and shun Ih# 
easy, alluring way to which heart and memory were ever 
pointing ; no more of stern rebuke and sneering taunt ; no 
more galled pride and outraged womanhood ; no more 
lying gayety, smiles, and repartee, when the spirit waa 
writhing in impotent agony, longing to shriek out its inten* 
y of woe ! Only sleep, rest, peac.e ! 

Sleep ! rest ! peace !” She gasped the words feverishly, 
as they seemed to come to her on the breeze. Might she 
not seek these now! now/ Not yet! The grounds, the 
beach were still populous with groups of strollers. She 
would be seen — perhaps recognized — probably frustrated 
in her purpose. Leaning her head against the casement, 
she sat there an hour — not debating, still less wavering in 
her resolve, only waiting until flight would be safe — and 
thinking ! thinking ! thinking ! until her brain whirled. 

A thwarted, warped, disjointed existence had hers been 
from its beginning. Denied food suitable for her mental 
and spiritual need ; denied sympathy, air, and expression of 
sufiering ; under the slow torture of this starvation, every 
avenue to goodness and liberty hedged up, and, for the 
future, temptation, repudiation, loneliness, perhaps a sullied 
name — who could dispute her right to try release by one 
brief pang she alone could feel ? Who would miss her ? 
Not the world that flattered her wealth and wit, her laces, 
silks, and diamonds ; not the mother and sister who wor- 
shipped the gilded Juggernaut ‘^Society;” not he who wag 
that night sleeping soundly on the same sea that would em- 
bosom her in her sweeter, deeper slumber. Shocked he 
might be at an event so unexpected and uncommon. Ilis 
next sensation would be a relief at his <leliverance from a 
burden, at his freedom to come and go as he liked —no 
longer banished by her obstinacy and his own. He h&d 
loved her as most other men do their wives — a bond 


HUSKS. 


219 


too W'eak to bear a heavy blow at their self-love. Sho had 
siniied beyond forgiveness in his eyes. 

Of Philip she thought with a mingling of tenderness and 
resentment. His unthinking gallantry had been the root 
of her sorest trouble ; but it was unthinking, not wilful 
irrong. Nor was she the only sulFerer. His heart was 
well-nigh as hungry as hers. Within the past week, she had 
seen this more clearly than ever before, and he had felt it 1 
L icy’s narrow mind, her insipidity, her inordinate vanity 
her selfish idolatry of pleasures that wearied him ; her dis- 
relish for intellectual and domestic enjoyments, displayed in 
its most objectionable form, in her indifference to his com- 
pany, and her neglect of her child — these were working out 
their legitimate result in his alienation from her, and attrac- 
tion towards the once slighted sister, whose large heart and 
mental gifts he now valued at their true worth. To repel 
him, as much as to drown her cares, Sarah had plunged 
into the vortex she had heretofore avoided. She had heard 
that there was temporary solace in this species of dissipa- 
tion. The cup was, for her, sparkleless and ‘ bitter, from 
surface to dregs. 

She was saving him with herself by this final step ! He 
would realize this truth, in the throe chat would shake his 
soul when he found that she was gone; perhaps, even in 
that anguished hour, would bless her for having showed to 
him, while she drove him back from, the abyss they were 
together approaching. It was no idle vaunt she had made 
to Lewis, that the principles inherited from her father would 
save her from overt sin. Thus, thus would she flee the 
temptation, when the heart had left the will to battle 
unaided. 

Her father ! the gray old man who was toiling through 
this suiumei’s heat, in his deserted home, as he had through 
io many summers gone ! he who had never given her an 


220 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


. / 

impafeleiit or angry word — whose pride and joy she stili 
! The stroke would be severe upon him. Yet he 
would not refuse comfort. There were still left to him his 
boys— -fine, manly fellows ; Jejmnie and his baby grandchild 
—his lost daughter’s gift. Tears rushed into the hot, wil 
with this last image, but she would not let them flow, 

‘‘ Is it not better that I should leave her now, when the 
parting will give her no pain, when one little week will 
blot owt my memory entirely from her mind, than to waif 
until she can recollect and miss me ?” 

The music had ceased. The revellers had dropped away 
faster than they had collected," when once the movement 
was made to retire. The murmur of the deep was the 
only sound abroad ; the stars were the only sentinels. 
Sarah arose, threw a shawl over her head, and cautiously un 
locked the door. A strong rush of air blew it from her hold, 
and as she caught it, to draw it after her, she trod upon 
€ome object lying on the floor. Mechanically she stooped 
to pick it up. It was an infant’s shoe, a dainty Uttle gaiter, 
that peeped, during the day, from beneath Baby Belle’s 
white skirt. To Sarah’s touch it seemed that the lining 
still retained the warmth of the child’s foot. 

Never, oh, never, was the patter of those baby feet to 
make glad music for the mother’s ear ! Others must guidb 
and sustain her trial steps ; others smooth her daily path ; 
others direct the inexperience of the girl in the perilous 
pabRcs where that mother had fallen and perished ! 

“Oh, may I not bless her before I leave her forever?’’ 
ahe cried to stern Resolution. And Conscience rejoined, 
with meaning severity : “ Is it you who would breathe 3 
blessing above her purity ?” 

“ Suffer me, then, to take the farewell look I dared not 
grant myself before !” 

And while Resolution faltered at the impassioned appeal. 


she opened the nn. ^}’CLX>r iLu<’d stole to the wide of the 
crib. The night-h; J) shed i Beble halo over the table 
wliereon it stood. Jhe ivjsi ol the room was in darkness. 
Mary’s light beds! : d Wo'\ -So s to the crib. Was herft 
tliat hard, short 1. Jlthiiig, ti'* t sent a start and ' hill 
llirough the hearer . Atou^h o the lamp threw a blaze 
of light over nurse .Id cUlu. A sharp cry rang through 
the chamber, 

‘‘ Mary ! Mary ! g np T 

The girl sprang to e flo r efore she comprehended thv 

meaning of the alai^ " L_,. mond had sunk into a 

chair beside the crib, from which she had snatched ner 
infant. Baby Belle’s head was strained back; her hands 
clenched; her limbs stiftened in a aeathlike spasm. The 
eyes were rolled out of sight under the lids ; and the four 
little teeth — her most precious pearls,” the fond mother 
had called them — were hard-locked within the purple lips. 

Terrified as slie was, Mary had the presence of mind to 
run for assistance. Mrs. Hunt and a physician were soon 
on the spot, and every appliance of the healir^ art that 
promised relief to the sulFerer was used, but with partial 
effect. Sarah saw nothing but the child ; heard nothing 
but the doctor’s calm orders. 

“You do not try to help her!” she said, impatiently, a? 
a convulsion, more fearful than any that had preceded ir, 
seized the delicate frame. 

“ I could not do more, were it my own child, madam !” 

He was an elderly man, whose charity for fashion.di!^ 
mothers was very scant, and, having seen Mrs. TTani'M / 
in tl ^ ball-room the e ming h ite a I 

for t B solicitude she m nifestei !. 

‘‘1 DU had better let I j nui e : ei Hi faid^nt n 
gent ^ as Sarah, with ( bucultj, b^Ju d'‘*wn 5inigg*^ :p 
tiandt that might do hu t o h b"au aL i 


222 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


“No! 1 will have no one touch her hut myself T' 

The morning broke, the day heightened into noon, and 
the paroxysms only abated in violence as the babe’8 
strength declined. Steadfast to her word, the mother had 
not once resigned her. She had herself immersed her in 
the warm baths, applied the poultices, and administered the 
medicines prescribed. Mrs. Hunt was compassionate and 
active ; Mary sorrowful, and prompt with whatever service 
she could perform ; Lucy frightened and idle. 

Philip, who had often been in the outer locm tc make 
inquiries and offer aid, if any were required of him, was 
told, just before sunset, that he could go into the 
chamber. Mrs. Hunt invited him, and the information she 
added gave to his countenance a look of heartfelt sadness 
as he followed her. Sarah sat in the middle of the room, 
so altered that he could scarcely credit the fact of her iden- 
tity with the being he had parted from the previous night. 
Her eyes were sunken, her features sharpened, and her 
complexion had the dead, grayish hue of an old woman’s; 
In her arms lay the babe, and, as she crouched over it, her 
mien of defiant protection suggested to him the idea of a 
savage animal guarding her young. He could not say 
whether or not she was aware of his presence, until he knelt 
by the dying child and called it by name. 

“Baby Belle, do you know Uncle Philip?” 

The dark eyes, soft still through the gathering film* 
moved slightly, and ^arah said — 

“ Speak to her again I” 

“Will Baby Belle come to uncie?” 

This lime there was no sign of consciousness. The weo 
bands clasped in the mother’s grew colder and colder, and 
ihe breath fluttered slowly through the parted lips. The 
dnd was near, and Philip’s pitying accent expressed bin 
sense of this. 


HUSKS. 


223 


‘‘ Give her to me, dear Sarah ! It is not right for you to 
keep lier longer.” 

•• She is mine /” 

The glare that came to her eye with the three words 
revealed a desperation that would have done battle with 
the King of Terrors, had he appeared in visible shape to 
claim his victim. 

More faintly, slowly, trembled the life over the sweet 
mouth, and the hands, like waxen shapes, lay puls(iless in the 
mother’s clasp; Avhile through the silent room fir wed the 
dirge of the sea. Shaken by the freshening breeze of even- 
ing, the shutters of the western window swung ajar, letting 
in a golden ray upon mother and child, and along that path 
of light the untarnished soul of Baby Belle was borne by its 
waiting angel — home I 


224 


THE EMPTY HEART* OE 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

Auht Sarah sat in the wide porch at the back of her houee, 
knitting in hand. It was a still, but not oppressive August 
afternoon. There was not a ruffle on the bright surface of 
the river, and the long meadow grass was as smoothly spread 
out in the yellow sunshine. Fi’om the poultry>yard on the left 
arose a pleasant murmur, and now and then a stray hen tip- 
toed around the end of the house, singing idly as she rambled. 
Charley lay on the green mound — his old reading-room— 
with a book before him, and to him Aunt Sarah’s motherly 
eyes turned most frequently. Those kindly orbs were dimmer 
than they were two summers ago, and the gentle face was a 
thought more pensive. A glance into the sitting-room win 
dow, from where she sat, would have showed one Uncle Na- 
than’s empty arm-chair in the chimney corner, and above it 
were suspended his cane and broad-brimmed hat, just as he 
had put them off when he took his departure for a country 
where neither shelter nor staff is needed. Aunt Sarah’s cap 
had a widow’s border now; and in her faithful heart there 
was a sadder void than the death of her children had crea 
ted — loving parent though she was — and yet more plentiful 
springs of sympathy for others bereaved and suffering. 

Her rocking-chair was set near the entrance of the hal. 
that bisected the dwelling; and the front and back doors 
being open, she had a fair view of the public road whenevei 
she chose to look up the lane. The Shrewsbury stage met 
the boat at four o’clock, or soon after; and hearing a rumbling 


HUSKS. 


V iO 

along thr hijjbway, which she knew presaged its trar ait 
through this Hud of the village, the old ladv leaned for^^ ard to 
^vatch a glimpse of the trunks upon the roof; this being all 
she could distinguish with certainty above the fence. 

Why, it is stopping here!” she ejaculated, getting up t( 
biain a better look. “ Who upon earth can it he ?” 

The coach rolled on, and the passenger for t!ie tarni-house 
jame through the gate and down the lane. She was dressed 
in black, wore a crape veil, and carried a small hand-trunk. 
With hospitable instinct, Aunt Sarah advanced to the front 
porch to meet her, still entirely in the dark as to who it 
could be.” 

“ She has a different look from any of the neighbors ; and 
there’s nobody in York that would be dkely to come to see 
me, except Betsey’s people, and it can’t 1 »e either of her girls!” 

At this stage of her cogitations, the visitant reached the 
step on which the hostess stood, and p» t away the long veil 
from a face so worn and seamed with <rief, so hollow-eyed 
and old, that the good aunt screamed out' ght in her distressed 
astonishment — 

“ Sarah, dear child ! can this be you ^ ’ 

‘‘ What I am now. Aunt Sarah. Maj I come in and stay 
with you a little while ?” 

“ Stay with me, poor darling ! As ’i; as you like, and 
welcome ! Come right in ; you don’t lov^k tit to stand !” 

She was not ; for, now that the necessity for exertion was 
removed, she was faint and trembling. Aari Sarah helped 
aer up-stairs to the room she had occupied at her former visit, 
undressed her, and put her to bed. Saraf submitted like a 
child, too much exhausted to resist being made sn invalid of, 
or to offer any explanation of her singular appariti^'^n. She 
had not slept an hour at a time for many nights , ret when 
she had drunk a cup of tea, and tried to eat a bit of tier 
aunt prepared and brought up to her, she fell into a pr'>fv 
10 ^ 


226 


THE EMPTY heart; OR, 


BiuHiho, , >/liicb lasted until long after sunrise on the follow 
iiig morning. Unclosing her eyes then, they rested upon th( 
dear face, shaded by the widow’s cap, that watched at hei 
bedside. A shadowy phantom of a smile flitted over her 
rf*atures at the recognition. 

was not a dream, then ?” she said, languidly. Bu 
f have dreamed of you often, of late — every night in which 1 
have had any sleep. Aunt Sarah, I must tell you why I came 
to you !” 

“Not now, dear,” Aunt Sarah hastened to say, seeing the 
wild stare and the cloud return to her countenance. “Wait 
until you are stronger. I will bring up your breakfast, and 
when you have eaten it, you may try to dress, if you like. 
There will be time enough for your story, by and by. Char- 
ley is in a great fldget to see you.” 

Sarah submitted to the delay ; but it was plain that she 
was not satisfied with it, and that her mind would be easier 
when once the tale was told. Aunt Sarah hindered her no 
longer a time than sufficed for her to take the much needed 
refreshment, to bathe and dress, and to see and exchange a 
few sentences with Charley, who supported her down to the 
sitting-room. There, resting among the pillows of the 
lounge. Aunt Sarah beside her, with the ubiquitous knit- 
ting-work in hand, lest too close observation should con- 
fuse her niece, the stricken one unfolded the whole of her 
sad history. 

No more aflfecting proof could have been given ot her 
prostrated mind and will than this unreserved recital. The 
secret she had sold conscience and liberty to preserve, she 
communicated now without a blush. Here — where she 
had formed the intimacy that had shadowed so darkly her 
after days — she detailed every step of the wrong course to 
which this weakness was a key ; went over all — the stormy 
parting with her husband ; her conviction of the mutmU 


tIUSKS. 


peril she and Philip were tempting in their daily com- 
munion ; her resolve of self destruction, — as circumstautially 
as if she were relating the biography of another. 

Aunt Sarah, horrified and pitiful by turns, struggled with 
indifferent success to maintain equal composure, and 
against growing doubts of the narrator’s sanity. It was a 
striking and instructive contrast : the world-weary woman 
returning for consolation and advice to the simple-minded 
matron, to whom the artificial existence she now heard de- 
picted — its gilded vices and giddy round of vanities ; its 
trials and temptations — were a wonderful, a monstrous tale, 
as foreign to her sphere of principles and feelings as if they 
had transpired in another world. But when Sarah came to 
speak of her child, her manner changed, her voice was 
hoarse and uneven, and over the care-worn visage there 
went such alternations of fierceness and heart-breaking sor- 
row that the listening mother, upon whose soul the shadow 
of her own childrens’ graves still lay long and dark, could 
hear no more in silence. 

“ My poor girl !” she cried, falling on her knees, and 
throwing her arms around the reclining figure. “Dear 
child! Our Father in Heaven pity and comfort you ! 
There is no help in man for such trouble as yours !” 

Sarah had not shed a tear in the course of her story 
She said afterwards that she had not wept since they took 
her dead baby from her clasp ; but at this burst of un- 
feigned sympathy, this gush of pure love and compassion, 
the burning rock was cleft, and a blessed flood streamed 
from it. For some minutes they wept together without 
restraint, and when the more quiet grief of the elder 
mourner was repressed, the other still clung, sobbing, to 
her bosom. 

Aunt Sarah held and soothed her as she would have done a 
•otTOwliil child; strokiiiix awnv the hair from her forehead^ 


228 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR 


drying and kissing the tear-stained cheeks, with many ai 
epithet of fond reassurance. 

Ivet me finish ! There is very little more !” resumed 
j^arah, keeping her aunt’s hand fast in both of hers. “ We 
'vent back to the city, and the next day we laid her ifi 

reel! wood. We stayed at father’s — ‘I would not return io 
tiie house that used to be mine. Father was very kind, and 
mother meant to be; but she tormented me with sugges- 
tions and consultations about my black clothes. Lucy was 
piiib'g to get back to Newport. She said it was hot and 
dull in New York. Philip wanted to comfort me, but I 
shuj ned him, and I think he was hurt by my conduct ; but 
it was best, was it not, Aunt Sarah 

‘‘ Certainly, dear !” 

‘‘ I had often imagined myself lonely before ; but I nevei 
drepjued of such a horror of desolation as filled my soul 
during the two days that I remained there, after all was 
over. Twenty times each night I would start from a fever 
ish doze, thinking that I heard my baby cry or moan, as 
she did in the intervals of those awful convulsions ; and 
then would come in upon me, as if I had never felt it until 
then, the truth that I could never see her again, and that 
my wicked, wicked intention of deserting her had brought 
this judgment upon me. I could not stay there, Aunt 
Sarah ! I heard other voices besides my child’s in the air, 
and saw strange, grinning faces in the darkness. But the 
worst was to see that, to every one but me, the world was the 
same that it had ever been. Father looked gravg when I 
was in his sight ; but the hildren could laugh and talk as 
if nothing had happened, and I have seen mother and Lucy 
chatting merrily in the room with the dressmaker over my 
new dresses, while they \^ere criticizing the crape trim 
mings. And I had buried my last earthly hope in my 
baby’s gra\ e ! Then I remembered you, and how you 


HUSKS. 


229 


had talked t) me of your lost children, and how you 
had a^ssured m«3 of a home in your heart and house when*' 
ever I chose to claim it, and I believed in you. Aunt Saran ! 
There are not many whom I do trust; but I was sure you 
never said what you did not mean. I would not tell them 
tliat 1 was coming, for I feared they would prevent me. I 
slipped out of the house when none of them were at home, 
and went to the nearest hack-stand, where I got into a car- 
riage and drove down to the boat.” 

‘‘ My dear, did you leave no letter to let them know where 
you had gone ?” 

No, ma’am. I was afraid they would come or send for 
me, and I cannot go back.” 

“ But your father — your mother I Did you not think how 
distressed they would be when they missed you ? And your 
reputation ? What will be said when it is known that you 
have left your father’s house, and no one knows where you 
are ? You are very weak and tired, dear ; but you must sit 
up, right away, and write a note home. Tell them that I 
will take care of you as long as you like to stay with me ; 
but don’t lose a minute 1 You may be in time for the after- 
noon boat.” 

Sarah obeyed ; and the careful old lady hurried Charley 
off to the boat, with directions to place the billet in thcj 
hands of the captain, who was a personal friend, and could 
be relied upon to post it directly he reached the city. 

Mr. Hunt replied without delay. Sarah’s absence had given 
rise to the most harrowing conjectures, made plaiisil>)e bv 
her extreme melancholy and fitful behavior since her infai t’s 
death. The police had been privately notified of her dis- 
appearance, and cautiously worded advertisements inserted 
in the papers. He regretted to add that Mr. Mark w, who, 
as Mr. Hammond’s nearest friend, was informed ol the dis- 
tressing occurrence, had thought proper to communicate th< 


230 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


intelligence to Mr. H. before Sarah’s note arrived, and tlu 
steamer bearing the letter had sailed. Mr. Hunt expressed 
himself as entirely willing that his daughter should remain 
in her present retreat until her health of mind and body was 
re-established, but did not conceal his disapprobation of the 
manner of her leaving home. 

.Aunt Sarah looked concerned as she read this epistle, 
which her niece had passed over to her. 

“ I am sorry for your husband, my dear. This affliction, 
coming so close upon the other, will be a dreadful blow. It 
is a pity they did not wait awhile, until they knew some- 
thing of your whereabouts, before writing to him.” 

“ I am more sorry that the news must be contradicted,” 
was the reply. “ As we are now situated, the certainty of 
my death would be a relief to him. This was my reflection 
that night — ” She left the sentence unfinished. 

‘‘ My dear !” Aunt Sarah removed her spectacles, and 
surveyed her niece with her kind, serious eyes. “ Have you 
made up your mind to live separate from your husband for 
the rest of your life ?” 

“ What else should I do, aunt ? He will never come back 
unless I promise to love him, and that cannot be.” 

‘‘ That doesn’t alter the fact of your duty, as I look at it. 
y ou ought to make him an oflfer to do right, at any rate. 
It would have been easier and pleasanter to live with him, 
if you had felt for him as a woman should for the man she 
marries ; but you are married to him, and in the sight of the 
Iiord you ought to cleave to him, and him only. That is a 
solemn covenant, dear — ‘for richer, for poorer; for better, 
for worse !’ ‘ Those whoin God hath joine 1 together, let 

not man put asunder !’ It doesn’t excuse people, who take 
these vows upon them when the right spirit is wanting, that 
they never thought how awful the engagement was. Theii 
cbligations are just the same, whether they love or not.” 


HUSKS. 


281 


“ The respoiisioility does not rest with me. I performed 
my duty while we were together. The separation was his 
act, and he must abide tlie consequences. I have erred 
greatly, Aunt Sarah ; but ever since the night of our rupture, 
rr.y conscience has been easy with respect to Mr Hammond. 
[ confessed that I had misled him, and begged his pardon. 
Could I do more?” 

“ Put the case to yourself, child ! Do not be angry if I 
speak out my mind, and use against you some things you 
have told me. When you saw that Philip was growing to 
like you better and better, and that you felt nearer to him 
every day, why did you determine to die sooner than to 
have things go on so ?” 

‘‘ Because it would have been a crime for us to love each 
other — infemous treachery to my sister, to his wife, for us to 
name the w^ord between us.” 

“And how would Lucy have felt, if you had come to an 
understanding and spoken out the true feeling of youi 
hearts ?” 

“Hers is a careless, indolent nature, but «ftis insult would 
have aroused her. She would never have forgiven him or 
me, had she suspected a warmer sentiment on either side 
than that of friendship.” 

“ But an honorable, affectionate man like your husband, 
who thought his wife the most precious thing in the world, 
was to forget his disappointment, overlook your lack of love 
and truth towards him, only because you allowed that he 
!Kid found out your real feelings at last, and all the excuse 
you could give w^as that you could not help them ! You 
were the one in fault all the way through, from the day you 
engaged to marry him, up to the minute when you would 
not say the word he begged from you to keep him at home* 
It is right that all the advance should come from you,” 

High-spirited as Sarah w-as, slie was not angered by thif 


232 


THE EMPTY HEART; OR, 


plain-speaking. “Faithful are the wounds of a friend;’^ 
and she felt l,hat she had but this one. Aunt Sarah stu- 
died her thoughtful countenance before she renewed’ the 
argument. 

“ I am an old-fashioned woman, dear — 'lx)m and bred h 
tlie country, wdiere, thank God ! I have spent all my life. 
But Pve been thinking about your story of the way people 
act and feel up there in York, and maybe in all other great, 
fine, money-making cities, and my notion is just this. I look 
back of their pushing and straining after riches, and show, 
and worldly vanities ; every man for himself, and the one 
that climbs highest, forgetting as soon as he gets there that 
he was ever any lower, and ready to kick over anybody that 
tries to get alongside of him ; and I see that they have lost 
sight of the second great commandment — ‘ Thou shalt love 
thy neighbor as thyself.’ Then I look back of this too, and 
I see where the greatest sin is, and — dear, bear with me ! 
I see where you have gone furthest astray. Here’s a pas- 
sage I was reading this morning that tells the whole story.” 
She raised the Bible from the table, and laid it upon Sarah’s 
lap, pointing as she did so to these words enclosed in brack- 
ets : — 

“ Because thou hast forgotten the God of thy salvation, 
and hast not been mindful of the rock of thy strength, there- 
fore shalt thou plant pleasant plants, and shalt set it with 
strange slips. In the day thou shalt make thy plant to grow, 
and in the morning shalt thou make thy seed to flourish ; 
\ut the harvest shall be a heap in the day of grief ar'-d <h& 
perate sorrow r 

Mrs. Hunt would have regarded as an insult any express- 
ed doubt of her religious principles and practice. She liacl 
a desirable pew in the fashionable church which wa^j nearest 
her residence, and, stormy Sabbaths excepted, it was gen- 
erally full at morning service. When her chilcl^en wer« 


1 USKB. 


933 


preB’intable as to looks, very young babies being seldom 
preity, they \vere offeia^d in line lawn and Valenciennes at 
the font for the rite of baptism; and not a confirmation had 
parsed since her daughters were grown, that she did not 
Taiiey how interesting they would look, kneeling before thc^ 
varpliced bishop, heads gracefully bowed, and the regards 
ot the whole congregation fixed upon them. Sarah never 
could be brought to the performance of the commonest act 
of ]Hi]>lic worship, unless it was to rise with the rest, when 
a standing posture was prescribed by the prayer-book ; and 
she shocked her mother by declaring that she only did this 
because she was tired of sitting ! Lucy’s serene grace of de- 
voutness was beautiful, if not edifying to behold. Those 
who occupied adjacent pews involuntarily suppressed their 
responses as her mellow tones repeated, with melancholy 
sweetness- Have mercy upon us, miserable sinners !” And 
as the melting cadencen entranced their ears, the lovely 
penitent was speculating upon the probable cost of Miss 
Hau ton’s Parisian hat, or coveting Mrs. Beau Monde’s sable 
cloak. 

If Sarah had ever heard of regeneration, it was as a tech- 
nical phrase of the church articles and christening service. 
Of its practical meaning, its inward application, its absolute 
necessity to the safety of the soul, she had as vague a con- 
ce})tion as a Parsee or New Zealand cannibal would have 
formed. She had read the Bible in connection with rhetori- 
cal lectures, and admired it as a noble specimen of Oriental 
literature. What other associations could she have with it t 
A handsome copy of the Holy Scriptures, surmounted by a 
book of common prayer, lay on a stand in Mrs. Hunt’s third 
and rear parlor, and was dusted when a like attention was 
paid to the other ornaments of tables and etag^res, Ai 
Oxford edition, russet antique, formed one of the weddings 
gifts of each of the sisters, and in due time was laid in pioajj 


254 


THE EMPTY HEAllT; OR, 


pomp on its purple pillow in the library comer. It wsui 
hardly strange, then, that the quotation, so apposite to the 
case in point, should fail to impress her very strongly. Aunt 
Sarah had gone out, deeming solitary reflection the best 
tneans of enforcing the lesson she had tried to inculcate, and 
after re-reading the two verses, without furtlier ap propria 
tion of their meanir.g, Sarah turned leaf after leaf of the vol* 
ume, catching here and there a sentence of the large print, 
so grateful to the failing sight of her who was its daily 
student. 

“ David said unto his servants — ^ Is the child dead T 
And they said, ‘ He is dead !’ ” 

The smitten chord in the mother’s heart sent out a ring 
of pain, and her listless hand paused upon the open page. 
It is a simple story — the royal parent’s unavailing wrestle 
with the Chastener, the dread end of his suspense, and the 
affliction, made manifest in the calm resignation, the sancti- 
fied trust of the mourner. But when received as Sarah 
read it, with the vision of a similar death-scene intermixing 
itself with its unadorned details, tlie fresh blood still welling 
from the wound made by the tearing away of a portion of 
one’s own life, every line is fraught with truth and pathos. 

“ Can I bi'ing him back again ? I shall go to him, but he 
shall not return to me !” 

‘‘ Go to her ! Oh, if I could ! My baby ! my baby !” 

To the low, sad cry succeeded a season of yearning and 
of tears. It was an echo of the wail of the heathen mother 
who, centuries ago, having seen her babes slain before her 
eyes, cried aloud, in unselfish agony, as the sword, reeking 
with their blood, was plunged into her own bosom — Oh, n)y 
children ! where are ye ?” 

Sleep on, in thy lowly bed upon the hillside, sweet Baby 
Belle ! Like the pale buds that are fading with thee in thy 
narrow resting-place, thy mission on earth is accomplished. 


HUSKS. 


23S 

Joy, young freed spirit, if, stealing tlirough the melodies of 
Heaven, there comes to thee the wliisper of that mother’s 
call ! Fair lamb ! the love that folded thee in the Shepherd’s 
amis designed likewise, in re*jaUir^ thee, to Inre iLe wandor 
nwent home ! 


THE EMPTY heart: OB 




CHAPTER XIX. 

"mMt dear Leayis: Before you receive tliis letter, jon 
trill have bad the explanation of my aioappearance from 
New York. A merciful Providence directed me, in my 
partial derangement, to this peaceful retreat. Here I have 
found rest for body and soul — peace such as the world could 
never give the heart, even were it not bowed down by a 
sorrow like mine. Not that I forget past errors; nor that 
the review does not humble me in the dust. I confess, with 
shame and bitterness of spirit, my wasted years, my un* 

, sanctified affections, my evil passions. But for the assurance 
of the Father’s pardon, the Sa\uour’s loving pity, the black 
catalogue would strike me dead with horror and anguish 
It is a fearful thing to be made to see one’s self as she is ; 
to scan in terrified solicitude the record of a life, and find 
there nothing better tL^ pride, misanthropy, falsehood, 
hatred of men — rebellion against God. It is a sweet ex- 
perience to taste, however tremblingly, the consolations of 
the Friend w^ho invites the weary and heavy-iaden to draw 
near and learn of Him. Li His strength — not in that feeble 
ness I once called power — have I resolved to lead a nev 
life. Of the causes which have contributed to produce thiiJ 
change, we will speak more at length when we meet. 

“ ‘ When we meet !’ Lewis, will you, can you forget your 
manifold wrongs and come back to me ? I do not plead, 
now, ‘ for the sake of our child.’ Her sinless soul hence- 
forth can know no pain or woe. God saw that I was not 


HTJSK i. 


237 


urorthy of her , and lie took her. In the earLer weeks ol 
my selfish mourning, I had no thought of your bereavement. 
Latterly, I have longed to comfort you, for I know that your 
heart is riven by this stroke. She was your joy, as she was 
01 y angel of peace. Her loss is our common sorrow. Slial' 
it not draw us together ? Yet, as I have said, our estrange 
ment cannot now affect her. Thoughtless of evil, she passed 
away. Had she lived, the Omniscient only knows what 
grief and mortification might have darkened her pathway. 
Nor do I desire a reconciliation as ^ shield from the world’s 
sneer or ban, I hold its applause and its censure alike 
cheaply. In prosperity, its favors were painted, tasteless 
fruit ; in adversity, it would have fed my starving heart 
with husks. But for my sake — by the thought of my late 
and sore repentance ; by the remorse that must gnaw my 
spirit, when I remember your noble trust in me, your un- 
swerving fidelity, your generous love and my base requital 
of it all ; by the sorrow that never leaves me by day or by 
night — forgive me, and return to the home we have both 
forsaken ! I will serve you very faithfully, iny husband ! I 
have gained other and higher views of the marriage relation 
within a short time past. However presumptuously I may 
have assumed its responsibilities, however unworthily I per- 
formed its duties in former days, I would enter upon our re- 
engagement with a solemn sense of what I owe to you and 
to Him who united us. You must have despised me at our 
parting, and since. Perhaps you have come to think of me 
with dislike as well as corrtempt. I will bear this — grievous 
though the burden will be — as a part of my rigl teous punish- 
ment. I will never murmur — never, even in thought, accuse 
you of unjust harshness, if you will grant me the opportunity 
to make what amends I can for all you have lost and suf 
fered through my fault. ^ 

Saraii was still far from strong ; and wearied as much bj 


238 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


the intensity of her feelings as by the manual effort of 
writing, she laid the pen down, and leaned back in lUe 
oiwhioned cnair. Her table stood in tlie parlor beneath ih^ 
window overlooking the river. The room was prim anti 
jlean, as of yore, with its straight lines of chairs ; its shininji 
specks of mirrors ; the grim black profiles above the mantel, 
and the green boughs in the fire-place. The outer scene was in 
its general features that which the girl had surveyed, with 
pleased surprise, the July evening of her arrival here two 
years ago. 

Only two years ! The sufferings and life-lessons of twenty 
had been crowded into that brief space. The meadows Avcre 
growing sere, as if scorching winds had swept over them, 
and the stream refl^fected truthfully, yet, one could have fan- 
cied, sadly, the changing foliage fringing its borders. But 
the sky, with its tender blue and its fleecy clouds, ever shift- 
ing, yet ever retaining their likeness to one another — the 
river’s smooth, steady flow, were the same ; fit emblems 
both of them of coimsels wliich are mercy and truth through 
all their workings ; of love that abideth forever ! 

The train of thought was replete with refreshing to the 
spirit that was striving, in prayer and watchfulness, to adhere 
to the right, to accept, with meek submission, all that her 
cup yet held of pungent or nauseous lees. There was no 
affectation in the bumble tone of her letter. She would not 
begin it until she had mastered the stubborn remnant of her 
native pride. It should be nothing to her that her husband 
had wilfully separated himself from her, and refused her 
overtures of reconcilement. If this was inkindness, it was 
all she could reproach him with in the course of time they 
had spent together. He had been a true friend, an honorable 
protector, and dimly still, but more justly than ever before, 
she perceived that into his love for her there had entered 
Bone of the merely prudential considerations, the coo’ calcu 


HUS V.6. 


239 


(ations, v^herewith she used to account for his choice of ner 
self as a helpmeet. Where, in the world’s heartless circles, 
could she point out another wife as much indulged, as much 
honored in public and in private, as she once was by him ? 
Mournfully, if not lovingly, she dwelt upon the countless 
evidences of his cordial fulfilment, in letter and in spirit, <»1 
bis part of their mutual engagement, with something of (he 
sinking of heart the alchemist may have felt when, after he 
had, by a mechanical and habitual fling of his arm, tossed 
the eagerly-sought philosopher’s stone into the sea as a 
worthless pebble, he discovered that the divining steel he 
held had been changed to gold by its touch. 

To whom of us has not an experience similar to this come ? 
It may be that the eyes which once besought affection with 
dumb and disregarded eloquence are closed and rayless foi 
all future time ; the lips that told, with modest frankness^ 
how dear we were to hearts we cared not then to win, arc 
now but silent dust. Or, perchance, grieved by indifference, 
repelled by unkindness, those hearts have sought and found 
in other loves solace for the pain we, in our blindness, in- 
flicted. It matters little whether they be dead to all the 
world, or only to us. In either case, the longing and despair 
of our lonely lives are rendered the more unendurable from 
the flash of tardy truth that shows us, side by side with our 
actual poverty of heart riches, the tranquil beauty of the 
pictured “ might have been.” 

Aunt Sarah had gone on a visit to a neighbor ; the hired 
girl was in the distant wash-house ; and Charley considered 
it his duty to linger within easy reach of his cousin, should 
she need him for any purpose. To guard her from all chance 
of intrusion, he stationed himself on the front poich stepa^ 
with his book on his knee. For an hour, he read on unin 
terruptedly ; then, glancing up as he turned a leaf, he saw a 
gentleman coming down the gravel-walk. He looked thin 


240 


THE EMPTY HEART; OB, 


and anxious, and his restless eye wandered from door to 
windows, as in expectation of seeing some ore besides the 
boy. With a ready apprehension of his infirmity, only to 
1)0 accounted for by some prior knowledge of the person he 
dated, he took from his pocket a card, which he presented 
•( ):e he sliook hands with the silent host. Charley’s in 
lelligent face was one beam of pleasure as he read, and his 
w arm grasj showed his sympathy in the happiness he fancied 
was in store for his cousin. Inviting the guest by a gesture 
to follow him, he went softly to the parlor-door, tapped 
lightly — too lightly, indeed, to attract the notice of the 
musing occupant of the room, then drew back the bolt, ad- 
mitted the stranger, and delicately withdrew. 

Sarah heard the door open and Charley’s retreating foot- 
feteps, and, supposing that he had peeped in to see that she 
was comfortable and wanted for nothing, she did not loot 
around. The intruder stood still one step within the room, 
as if unable to advance or speak. The languid attitude of 
the figure before him, so unlike the self poise and quiet ener- 
gy of her former de})ortment, her black dress, even the wast- 
ed hands dropped so wearily upon her lap, told of the 
storm that had passed over her, the utter revolution in her 
life and nature. A struggling sigh he could not repress 
broke from the gazer’s breast, and Sarah turned hastily to- 
wards him. She did not swoon, as he feared she would. 
A tlirill, like an electric shock, shook her from head to foot ; 
h wild inquiry looked from her eyes; a question of the real! 
ly of the appeai-ance, succeeding so closely to — did it grow 
mi of her revery ? 

liCvvis put this imagination to flight. 

‘‘ Sarah !” he said, ])ressing in his the hands she extended 
mutely. “They told me you were lost, and I hurried home 
to find you. I could not wait for your permission to come 
to you, when I learned in New York that I had a living 


H B 8 R8. 


241 


wife! The loss of the child was heavy enough ; but this — ^ 
He coiila say no more. 

I am thankful ! I am glad that you are here!” A faint, 
beautiful smile shone over her wan features. “ And oui 
haby, I^ewis ! We must remember that she is an ang^ 

ow r 

II 


THE EMPTY HEART 0» 


U2 


CHAPTER XX, 

To no one except Aunt Sarah were the Gaots of th# 
estrangement and reconciliation of her relatives tver ro 
veal 3d, and within her faithful bosom the secret was aid 
den as securely as in a tomb. 

Great was the chagrin of gossips, male and female^ 
when it was known that Mrs. Hammond's strange flight 
from her father’s house, which had leaked out nobody 
knew how, and been variously construed into an elope- 
ment, a freak of derangement, and a deliberate intention 
of suicide, according to the degrees of charity possessed 
by the theorists, was a very innocent and unromantic 
journey to the country home of her favorite aunt and 
godmother, a lady of ample fortune and benevolent heart, 
who would, in all probability, make her namesake her heiress. 
Under her care, and for the benefit of the seclusion so con- 
genial to one in her affliction, and the salt air so necessary 
for the restoration of her impaired health, Mrs. Hammond 
had remained until her husband’s return from abroad. 

Mrs. Hunt had told Mrs. A., who had told Mrs B., who re 
[ eated it to Mrs. C., how he had not stopped in New York an 
hour after he stepped ashore trom the Adriatic. He hurried 
to the bank, and ascertained from Mr. Hunt that bis w^ife was 
with her aunt, and that a boat which would land him near 
Shrewsbury was to leave in fifteen minutes. So he drove 
down post-haste, and jumped on board of her after the 
plank had been drawn in and the wheels began to move. 


HUSKS. 


243 


There never was amove devoted husband or a more attached 
pair, Mrs. Hunt affirmed. 

“More than she could say for that flirting Mrs. Benson 
and her other lialf,” agreed A. B. and C., unanimously. 

“Her conduct at Newport was scandalous, and wouh] 
have been outrageous if he had not watched her like 
A lyuY said Mrs. Beau Monde, who had never been abk 
to secure one-half as many admirers as had Lucy, and 
hated her as honestly as if they were a couple of Biddit^s 
pulling caps for Patrick or Murphy. 

“ I don’t see why he should have felt jealous, I am sure. 
He wasn’t dying of love for her ! That could be seen with 
half an eye. They say he loved Mrs. Hammond before he 
addressed her sister, and married this one out of spite,” re- 
joined Mrs. Townes, who had made beaux yeux at the 
distingue Southerner for three whole evenings, and won only 
the most indifferent glances in requital. 

“ Mrs. Hammond behaved very prudently !” pronounced 
Mrs. Greyling, “ and dressed very well. I suppose Mr. 
Hammond brought her some elegant things from abroad. 
Pity she is in mourning, and must dress plainly at present ! 
If I were in her place — as it was only a baby — I would not 
wear black more than six months, unless it was very becom 
ing.” 

“ She has become very religious, you know,” said Mrs. 
Parton. 

“Indeed! People are apt to, I think, when tliere has 
been death in the family,” concluded Mrs. Greyling, pensive 
ly. “ I remember, when my poor sister died, I used to 
look forward to church and Sunday wuth real pleasure. 1 
could not go anywhere on week-days, you know, although 
there were piles of tickets lying in my card-receiver, and we 
had just taken a box at the opera that very winter ! I de 
dare, I should have lost the run of the fashions entirely 


244 


THE EMPTY HEART OR, [I USES. 


and forgotten people’s tUces, if I had not gone to church. 1 
dare say, too, that she finds some comfort in religion — poor 
woman ! if what the preachers and good books tell os be 
true.” 

Had Sarah found comfort ? 

Look we, for reply, to the chastened lustre of the eye, 
where once burned restless fires, like the sunward gaze ol 
the imprisoned eagle • t-o the holy serenity struggling through 
and finally dispelling tne clouds of memory and regret that, 
at times, would roll in between her soul and the bright, 
sustaining hope upon which Faith would have its regards 
forever fixed ; to her daily life, sanctified by prayer, benefi- 
cent in good works, and by its unostentatious loveliness 
winning others, first ta admire, then to imitate; to the wife- 
ly submission and loving kindness of her bearing to her hus 
band, her grateful estiinate of the afiection he lavished upon 
her, the deep, true tenderness growing up in her heart for 
this fond and noble companion ; look we, lastly, to the 
snowy marble guarding that tiny mound in Greenwood, 
where the mother once believed that hope and joj wew 
buried t ) know no awaking. 

“BABY BELLE,” 

iWFANT DAUGHTER OF 

LEWIS AND SARAH HAMMOND. 

SUE WENT HOME 
Jvly 16 , 1858 , aged 8 months, 
bii weU with thee t Is it well with thy husband f 
h a weU mth the child f ” And she answered, 

*‘II W WELLl'* 




■ ' jk t 


I ♦.*' k 1 ' I / I 


*r \i ; .‘f 

:«^’ •' ■; - . 

‘iV''''‘j ■ V : 

K^>^' 1 ' ' 

^: 

* 





FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE" 


1 • ’■ ^ 





nn 

'.J.i 




' t •' 










V » 

. ‘ I* • 
.# ' , 












.'' j ( 


^i: 


I 










'' v' • ^ 




















“FOR BETTER FOR WORSK’ 


CHAPTER L 

** 1 COULD never love where I did not respect.’’ 

Then, if yon ever cease to respect me, I shall know 
niy fate without being informed of it by word of mouth.” 

How absurd !” 

Their marriage day was just a month old, and they had 
sjxBnt a long afternoon together, without other companion ; 
strolling along the river bank, penetrating the cool, deep 
i*ecesses of the woods, or climbing the bold steeps that jut- 
ted over the brink of the stream. It was a wild, moun- 
tainous district, and they had not seen another being 
besides themselves in their ramble. The wife sat now upon 
the summit of a huge, shapeless mass of gray stone, and the 
husband lay on the mossy carpet that covered the broad, 
flat top of the boulder, his head in the lap of his bride. 

A finer specimen of manly beauty can hardly be imag- 
ined than he presented in this attitude of careless grace. 
His hat lay beside him on the moss, and the hand that 
toyed with his hair had tossed it back from his forehead — 
perhaps unwittingly, more probably because the owner of 
the hand wished to have a better view of the visage she 
thought the handsomest in the world. His brow waji 

( 347 ) 


3«1:8 “foe bettee, foe woese.” 

smooth and fair — not too high ; his eyes, large, dark, and 
soft, had the rarely attractive qut.(ity of changing color with 
ev«ry [diase of emotion. J ust now, they were brown, lov- 
iii^, and happy, with the least possible sparkle of fun shining 
iio through their depths. His nose had the straight Cornell- 
iicss and delicate nostrils of the Greek Antinous ; his chin 
was well-sha}>ed and slightly cleft ; and a jetty moustache, 
err ling and silky, showed to dazzling advantage a set of 
perfect teeth. If there was a flaw in the face, it was the 
mouth. Beautiful and sensitive as a woman’s, it was a 
trifle too small, and the lower lip too full to bear out the 
impression of manliness and str ength created by the rest ol 
his physiognomy and his athletic frame. He was six feet 
in height, with the shoulders and muscles of a gladiator, 
without the brutal outlines that characterize the coarser- 
blooded human animal. He was not a dandy, yet the care- 
ful arrangement and stylish ]>attern of his clothing, although . 
it was a simple summer suit of light cloth, and the cut of 
his hair, would have told the observant looker-on that he 
was aware of and appreciated his personal gifts. 

“ Handsome Syd Bentley ” had been the toast of the 
girls, the envy of his fellow-bachelors too long not to have 
arrived at a tolerably accurate estimate of his reputed 
woi*th. He had been told that he was irresistible ever since 
he discarded roundabouts ; told, in so many words, by hia 
mother and sister s, in whose eyes he was a nonpareil of man- 
hood ; by his masculine associates, some grardgingly, other* 
freely and generously ; and, in yet more flattering language 
by the alluring glances, the siglis and blushes of Iris fail 
acquaintances. Nor were his good looks his solitary recom 
mendation to popular fa\or. His wealthy father had dis 
bulged untold sums for his education and travelling ex 
penses. He was a fine conversationalisit ; sang well and 
ilanced gracefully ; rode like a Centaur * Vv s v waning mas* 


“for better, for worse.’’ 24^ 

£(}r of fence, and a match for any second-rate pn^list in box 
Lng. To these latter manly accom})lishments tlie ladies of 
this age lU’e beginning to incline more and more seriously as 
the ju-eachers of “ muscular Christhmity” increase in num 
‘ ers and ri'putatiom 

I ha\ e saitl enough of this })et of the petticoats to 
demonitmte beyond the possibility of cavil, the fact that he 
was an eminently eligible parti. Everybody predicted 
that he would make an astonishingly brilliant match. The 
girls ailinitted reluctantly that he had a right to aim at the 
‘‘brightest })ai*ticular ” of their shining ranks, while the most 
envious of their escorts “ su))posed that as society was now 
constituted, a fellow like Bentley had only to signify where 
his choice had fallen, to marry vrhomsoever he pleased.” 
Therefore, when the rejx)rt took wind and was speedily 
bruited abroad, that he was })aying attention (that is the tech- 
nical phrase, and a very stupid one it is, according to my ideas) 
to Kate Morgan, who was certainly no beauty, and hardly a 
belle, in any sense of the term, })retty heads, not a few, 
were tossed high in indignant aspersion of the depraved taste 
of their Adonis, while gossips of the masculine gender 
opened incredulous eyes and chuckled in malicious glee over 
this evidence of the favorite’s fallibility. I have intimated 
that Kate had, in the judgment of some, certain rather 
equivocal pretensions to belleship. Nobody — even the most 
fastidious critics of womanly beauty — even called her ordi^ 
Var}^-looking or absolutely uninteresting. “ Shf» was a pecib 
iar girl,” said her young lady friends, “with somewhat 
strong notions upon some subjects, but her princij^les were 
excellent.” Commendation artfully designed to terrify any 
weak-minded youth from approaching her, and to put upon 
their guard the large proportion of la^lies’ men who dislike 
women of decided chai-acter. She had her defenders. Those 
who were honored by her friendship raved about her inM 


250 


^^FOB BETTEB, FOR WORSE.’* 

lectual attainments; her fascination of rvinner and &^*eech *, 
her lofty soul ; her nobility and indepen deuce of spirit and 
thought ; her eminent virtues as daughter, sister, and friend 
One talent all agreed in attributing to her. She was a 
splendid musician — a skilful instrumental performer and an 
exquisite vocalist. Sydney Bentley was . originally drawn 
within the magic circle of her influence by her wonderful 
voice, and, his fancy once caught, he shortly became the 
most obsequious of her slaves. 

‘^It is sheer infatuation !” sighed his eldest sister, who had 
her reasons for disliking the match. “ I have reasoned with 
him, dozens of times, about his outrageous folly, but one 
might as well argue with Vesuvius in mid-ei*uption.” 

In truth, all that was best and most earnest in the nature 
of the spoiled favorite of fortune was brought into sight and 
action by this one great passion of his life. It spoke vol- 
umes in favor of the original material composing his heart, 
that self-conceit had not injured it to the extent of disquali- 
fying it for a genuine and hearty devotion to another. He 
openly avowed and honestly believed that the lady of his 
love was his superior, mentally and morally ; did homage, 
cordial and free, to her character and charms, — a tribute of 
which any woman might justly have been proud. 

It touched Kate Morgan as naught else of appreciation 
and attachment had ever done. At first, it may be that she 
was not insensible to the distinction conferred upon her by 
the marked preference evinced by the reigning idol of soci- 
ety, for her presence and companionship above that of the 
beauties and heiresses who strove, more or less openly, to 
attract his notice. She would not have been woman had 
not this natural thrill of vanity penetrated her heart and 
disposed her to partial judgment of her new wooer. If she 
chose to attribute the dawning prepossession to the love foi 
iBsthetics which found food for delight in the contemplatio* 


251 


better, for worse.^ 

of this physically model man, she was not the first one of 
her sex and kind who has preferred to deceive herself in the 
like case. As their acquaintanceship ripened into intimacy, 
and she became conscious of what were his real sentiments 
*csj>ecting herself, the feminine weakness was displaced by 
love, the intensity of which fairly terrified her. She was 
noted among her associates for lier critical discrimination of 
character ana motives ; was famed, and, by some, feared for 
her unerring perception of the vices and foibles that make 
poor mortal nature a revolting study to people of squeam- 
ish stomachs, or who like to take the Avorld — including the 
inhabitants thereof — comfortably. But, now^ she applied 
no tests. The most romantic of impulsive school-girls never 
received an ideal more absolutely upon trust than did she 
her real tlesh-and-blood hero. A hero he was, in her esti- 
mation — the embodiment of all that was lovely, grand, gra- 
cious, and brave in romance and poetry. 

Their courtship was rapid. It could not have been pro- 
tracted in the circumstances of mutual attraction I have 
enumerated. The engagement was not longer than was 
positively neccessary for the j)reparation of the trousseau^ 
and Sydney’s impatience at this delay was flattering to 
his bride as it was diverting to his friends. After the 
wedding — a quiet, family aflair, according to Kate’s desire 
— they set off upon a three vreeks’ tour of the Lakes and 
the White Mountains, settling down, in tlie fourth, for rest 
and the further enjoyment of each other’s society at Hawks- 
nest, the han Isome country-seat of Mr. Bentley, Sen. 

Th( ir ostensible reason for scaling the almost perpendicu- 
lar face of the rock where our story finds them, was to gain 
a good view of the sunset on the range of mountains that 
shut in Hawksnest and the small valley surrounding it like 
the walls of an amphitheatre. Both had a true, warm love 
for Nature in aJl her mo:)ds, and a lively appreciation of 


252 


‘^FOB BETTER, FOR WORSE.’’ 

attractive phases of these which would hav^e escaped eyn 
less sensitive to such influences, and less fineiy trained to 
note and examine them. But when Kate called her h’la* 
1 band’s attention to the broadening splendor of the West, she 
ftad but a slight response. He did not lo much as lift Ids 
I lead from his resting }daoe, and, looking laughingly down to 
elude his indifference to the scene, she discovered that his 
gaze was riveted upon her, instead ^f upon the distant 
hdls. 

What are you dreaming about?” she asked. 

‘M am not dreaming. I seem just to have awakened to 
the knowledge that* I have married the most glorious-look- 
ing woman in the country.” 

Kate blushed deeply, and put her hand over his eyes. 

Nonsense! I can say to you as did my shrewush name- 
sake to old Vincentio, after addressing him as a blooming 
maiden. It is 

“ ‘ your mistaking eyes 
That have been so bedazzled with the sun 
That everything you look on seemeth green.’ ” 

He let the hand lie where she had placed it. 

You cannot shut out the picture from my inner optics. 
It is painted there indelibly. Do you know, you sorceress, 
that it is a sin for any human creature to worship another 
Hs 1 do you ? ” 

The wife withdrew the covering from his eyes, and gazed 
down into them wdth intentness that was almost sad. She 
was actually beautiful at that instant. The cheek, usually 
pale, was dyed with warm rose-color; the sweeping fringes 
of her gray eyes darkened them to 1 lackness, and her mouth 
quivered with a smile the toacli of pensive thought but 
made more sweet. She had a noble, intellectual head, and 
the low"y bend of this added intensity, not easily expr^s««M 


253 


“fob better, fob worse,” 

words, to the devotion that shone through her face, as 
the sunlight through a porcelain picture, bringing grace and 
loveliness out of what was, a moment before^ a blant 
Burface. 

‘^It humbles me to hear you use such language, Sydney t 
ifumbles and frightens me ! I dread the moment of your 
real awakening, when you shall find of what common stud 
your idol is composed. Yet I enjoy the illusion while it 
lasts. 'I he happiness of one such moment as this outweighs, 
in my mind, all the grief, pain, and disappointment I have 
endured in the whole of my previous life.” 

Yet you would cloud this by fears of an event that is 
never to come to pass ! ” answered Sydney, in tender rebuke. 

This is no wild love-dream, remember, dearest ! My pride 
in and afiection for you, are founded upon the sure basis oi 
a thorough knowledge of your nature ; the matchless treas- 
ures of your mind and heart. I have seen enough of othe.i 
women to know how far you transcend them all in whatever 
makes womanhood adorable ; but ” — with an impatient, 
and slightly ludicrous change of tone — ‘‘as I have often 
had occasion to remark before, in connection with this sub- 
ject, where is the sense of trying to express myself upon it ? 
You are unique, my Koh-i-noor ! If there are blemishes in 
my diamond, I shall never descry them. My 
increases in exact proportion with my love, until the former 
now amounts to reverence, the latter — again to repeat 
myself — to worship.” He dnw her lips down to his, then 
Bettled his head once more into the position that suited him 
BO well. 

Kate spoke, musingly, after a brief pause, — 

“ Must not affection and esteem grow 'ogether, if afiection 
^ows at all : I could never lov<^ where I did not respect.” 

She met her husband’s rejoinder, — that given in the secosi 
•entence of this chapter — with playf”^ petulance. 


254 


"fob better, for woesk^ 

" How absurd I Wliy not speculate as to your fate, il 
you were transformed into Bluebeard or Caliban? ” 

Sydney was the serious one, now. ‘^No: my natural 
amiability, and my gentlemanly breeding, will prevent m« 
from becoming a cruel or odious monster in your sight. 
But 1 have weaknesses, dear, which you must detect soonei 
or later, try to hide them as I may and as I sliall do. I 
iread the clear glance of your eye lighting u])on one of 
these, more than I would the frowning inspection of a 
thousand others Don’t try to stop me ! 1 am not seized 

with a fit of ultra humility, nor am I not talkhig for the 
pleasure of being contradicted. This is a candid turn — 
that is all. I do not ap])rehend that you will ever think 
me really base and wicked — only that you may come in 
time to despise me for failings foreign to your uj>riglit na- 
ture. There may be iron — gold, if you will have it so — 
at any rate good metal of some descri}>tion, in my com}>osi“ 
tion, but it is sadly mixed with clay. Recollect, darling, 
when you discover what a fallible child of earth your hus- 
band is, that I had the honesty to warn you of this, and 
believe, through all the misgivings that may beset you, as 
to the wisdom of the act that gave your happiness into my 
keeping, that I am strong in one thing, — my love for you, 
and my faith in your nobility and goodness. I may fail in 
my attempt to emulate these, but I can perceive their 
exceeding beauty.” 

Kate’s eyes were dark with tears, and her voice shook aa 
she entered a passionate protest against his cmel judgment 
of himself. " A highwayman, or a parricide, could not paint 
iis own portrait in more dismal and frightful colors ! ” she 
concluded, poutingly. " Are you meditating sacrilege, or a 
bank robbery? If I believed one-half of what you havf 
laid, I should be afraid to stay here alone with you.” 

"I have not planned either of the crimes you aame«^^ 


255 


“fob better, von worse.” 

The s.inny humor, habitual to Sydney, dispelUid the melan- 
choly that had tinged his, to her, enigmatical speech. ‘‘ But 
for the fear of having my ears soundly boxed, I might ven- 
ture u])on the assertion that I had already committed both 
by stealing into the temple of your affections and possessing 
myself of your most precious treasures. Look at the sky 
beyond Round Top ! Did you ever see a more delicious bit 
of ultramarine? And the crimson and gold of the eastern 
clouds vie with these of the west in glory.” Tlie moun- 
tains were wrapped in purple shadows, that would soon be 
black, and a thin mist was stealing up to their observatory, 
from the river, when they descended reluctantly fi’om their 
lock, and chose the shortest path homeward. 

It will be moonlight, in the course of an hour,” said 
Sydney, on the way. “ But, if there were no risk of your 
taking cold, it would be advisable for us to go home. I am 
apt- to forget that while we are in the country we conform 
to the primitive habits of the region in our meal-times. 
EUza is a great stickler for punctuality. I do not believe 
that she was ever a minute behind time in her life, upon 
any occasion, great or small.” 

“ If we except her delay in choosing a partner for Hfe,” 
returned Kate, lightly, turning her smiling face towards 
him. 

The jest was not received as merrily as it was made. 
Rate noticed this instantly, and felt the lack of sympathy 
wi the spirit of her remark, in spit<> of Sydney’s attempt to 
Laugli. He changed the subject pulling her shawl higher 
upon her shoulders, and inquiring if she felt quite warm. 

‘^The mountain air grows cold a«' soon s»s the sunlight ia 
withdrawn,” he said. I must bring an extra shawl 
along for you, on our next ramble.” 

“ I am very comfortable, thank yeu^” K^te, in a 
tone that discouraged furtli er conversation. 


S56 


‘^FOB BETTER, FOR WORSB.^' 

The more she thought upon his forced laugh and failuw 
to answer her in words, the more uncomfortable she became. 
The unpleasant sensation was heightened by the conscious* 
ness that there had been a suspicion of spitefulness in her 
reflection upon the spinsterhood of her sister-in-law. Foi 
she had not been under the same roof with her a dozen 
hours, before she made up her mind that there was a strong 
likelihood that their intercourse would result in reciprocal 
dislike. Tliis persuasion she had studiously concealed 
from her husband, and the idea that he had caught a glim- 
mer of the truth from her unguarded remark was mortify- 
ing. Else, why should he tacitly decline the discussion 
of his sister’s old-maidism ? 

Stepping over the stones and gnarled roots of the forest- 
path, and seeming to listen to his pleasant talk upon various 
topics, a thought struck, like a bodkin-thrust, ab her heart. 
Was Eliza, as his sister, and a blood member of the Bentley 
family, to be held sacred from slighting, or jesting comments 
even from her — his wife? Was the tie of consanguinity 
one that would not brook the touch of an alien’s hand — 
alien by birth and lineage, although he had sworn, before 
Heaven and men, that she was henceforward to be the near- 
est and dearest of all earthly relations ? Another suspicion 
stabbed her ere she caught her breath from the pain of the 
first. She had imagined, long ago, that her marriage had 
been a most distastful one to Eliza. That energetic lady 
managed everythiug else pertaining to the Bentley interest, 
and was manifestly chagrined that the negotiation of the 
alKance of her only broth '^r with some highly-favored daugh 
ter of Eve had not been intrusted to her diplomatic and 
executive abilities. Perhaps Sydney was fully aware of this, 
and avoided all conversation that might lead to her discov 
ary of a circumstance that could not h it pain and embamiSfc 
her. 


257 


“fob bettek, foe woesb.” 

He broke the chain of thought when ^he had reached hii 
point. 

‘‘ I am afraid that you are weary, my pet ! Am 1 walk 
ing too fast for you ? ” 

^'Not at aU!” 

What makes you so quiet?” He continued, bending U 
look into her face. 

I am never talkative at twilight,” she replied, arousing 
herself. 

A re you not quite happy ? ” 

Of course I am 1 ” cried Kate, laughing more than was 
altogether natural. Of course I am ! Very happy ! 
Why shouldn’t I be ? ” 

fancied that you spoke sadly — that was all I I beg 
your pardon.” 

He had certainly a sweet temper, and his confidence in 
his wife’s word was absolute. It was unreasonable and un- 
kind to allow a trifle so light to discompose her ; but her 
spirit was still slightly, though not visibly ruffled when they 
reached the house. As fate would have it, Eliza was stand 
ing upon the piazza watching for them. 

Those who have read Thackeray’s Newcomes ” can never 
forget his mention of Lady Kew’s little black dog, and the 
subsequent dissertation upon other curs of the same com- 
plexion that infest nearly every family in the civilized world. 
Eliza was the proprietor of this interesting quadruped in the 
Bentley household, and, according to the custom of other 
lionseholds, more and less amiable, every member of it waa 
tn ix^mpetition with the rest in the laudable task of humor- 
ing \3he vile cur, tossing it propitiatory tidbits in season and 
out of season; feeding it with superfine dainties whenevei 
it menaced an assault, and redoubling their assiduities di 
roctly after it had made the round of the establishment, snarl 


258 


*FOR Biirrim, FOB WORSE.” 

ing, and worrying, and biting like any other mad thing thil 
deserved a sliort shrift and a long cord. 

Don’t irritate Eliza ! ” Eliza would not like that ! ^ 
^ Eliza says this must be done,” were unanswerable dissua- 
tjives or inducements in the mouths and ears of every one, 
liom the fa%er down to the least grandchild. Those who had 
grown up under this regime took it as a matter of cour&c, a 
>i>TLdjtion of their existence, which they accepted with vary- 
Liig degrees of patience — generally good-naturedly, being, in 
fche main, peaceable and kindly tempered; but the invariable 
policy of conciliation struck novices and lookers-on as con- 
temptible in itself, and unjust to the rest of the family. 
Kate’s sense of right and propriety was offended by it, from 
the day of her arrival at the country house, and hardly an 
hour had elapsed since, in which she had not fresh occasion 
for wonder and indignation at the one-sided state of domes- 
tic government. She had held her peace, however ; with- 
held from verbal or looked disapproval by the thought of 
the newness of her introduction to the home-circle, and the 
fear of offending others with the irascible maiden, with 
whom, to be candid, she would have relished a rousing tilt, 
that would grant her the opportunity of giving the virago a 
wholesome supply of plain truths, pungently delivered, 

“Well !” said the watcher, as the absentees walked up 
the steps, “ I began to think that we should have to ring 
the alarm bell, or send out a man wdth a lantern, to look 
ftfler you. You have been married about long enough, I 
ahould think, to bear in mind that seven o’clock is our tea 
hour.” 

Kate felt the blood warm her cheeks unpleasantly, but 
she naturally left the task of re})lying to her husband. 

He laughed good-naturedly. “We have had what the 
theologians call ‘ an abiding sense’ of that fact f ir the past 
hour, Lizzie. But we Topt our w^y coming home, and madi 


S69 


BETTER, FOB WORSE.” 

an unpi emeditated detowr of, I suppose, a mile and a half 
You must overlook our tardiness for this onee. It is a 
mercy that we did not need the man and the lantern, ijs 
dead earnest.” 

Kate glanced up quickly, her lips forming into a smile al 
this outrageous fabrication. Sydney’s face was as grave ar 
a judge’s. 

You had better keep your eyes open the next time you 
turn pathfinders,” said Eliza, only partially appeased. 

Supper has been waiting for you this half-hour.” 

Kate escaped to her chamber to lay aside her walking- 
dress, whither Sydney followed her almost immediately. 
What an adept you must be in hoaxing ! You carried 
the last one through with admirable gravity. I was tempted 
to believe you, myself,” she said, finding that he did not re- 
fer to it of his own accord. 

Whati do you mean ? ” with a puzzled air. 

I alluded to the romance of the ‘ Lost Pedestrians.’ ” 

‘‘ Oh, my fib to Eliza ! I have served a long apprentice- 
ship at the trade. I flatter myself there are not many men 
who can lie themselves out of a scrape with a more honest 
face than I can.” 

Kate’s hand fell from the collar she was pinning about 
her throat. Lie out ! O Sydney ! ” 

WTiite lies, I mean, child ! necessary equivocations, par- 
donable deceptions, agreeable exaggerations, and the like. 
How shocked you look ! It is what eveiybody does, only 
some bungle so atrociously in the attempt as to spoil every* 
thing. Who tells the truth at all times and in all places ? ” 
I do !” was upon Kate’s tongue. It was arrested by 
the recollection that the self-vindication would imply cen- 
sure of her liege lord, and make too serious a matter of a 
jest,” she continued, to herself But I wish he would un- 
deceive Eliza without del^*v • <^ertainly believes him 


m *• fOB BETTER, FOB WOBSE.” 

to be in earnest, and has, no doubt, repeated the silly fioraos 
to the whole family by this time. I do hate to be made the 
aubjeot of general ridicule, even for a little while.” 

Her surmise was correct. Old Mr. Bentley was especially 
fitcetious upon the misadventure, advising his son bo take a 
hatchet along when he again committed himself and hia 
spouse to the labyrinthine windings of the forest, and “ blaze” 
the trees, as he went, after the manner of pioneer back 
woodsmen, or to fill his pockets with pebbles and drop one 
every few rods, as did Hop-o’-my-Thumb on his road to the 
castle of the ogre. Incident of any kind was so rare in the 
level life they were leading in their country quarters, that this 
trifling event was hailed as a godsend of fun. Sydney bore 
the banter memly ; but Kate, who, according to her own 
confession, had a great dislike to unseemly raillery, fretted 
secretly under the allusions, covert and open, to the love^ 
lorn condition of the grown-up Babes in the Wood, as Eliza 
styled them, which had prevented them from knowing the 
points of the compass, or seeing landmarks like Bound Top 
and Steeple Mountain, which were visible for a hundred 
miles on every side. She would not feign amusement at 
what appeared to divert Sydney immensely, and Eliza, ob- 
serving this, directed the full tide of her ridicule in hei 
direction, when her father-in-law inquired into the cause of 
her very sober demeanor. 

She is thinking what a beautiful pair of corpses Robin 
Redbreast would have covered painfully with leaves by this 
time to-morrow evening, if kind fortune had not guided 
them out of the heart of the trackless wilaemess,” said the 
agreeable sister. “ You should have seen her face when she 
came in I She looked as if she had been crying for a week, 
and two monstrous teai’s were still ^ rolling adown bet 
lovely nose.’ ” 

£2Iiza 1 ” ejaculated Kate, in infinite difigusi. 


261 


"fob better, fob wobsk.” 

A hxLTHz of laughter at her earnestness of depTecatioii 
dro’W'ned whatever she would have said. TLe Bentlejs 
always laughed tremendously, upon principle, whenever 
Eliza essayed a witticism, however lame or flat it might be, 
and her jeitx (Tesprits were invariably either clumsy oi 
fetuous, 

" I appeal to Sydney whether you had not been dissolved 
Li grief, all the while you were wandering aflrighted throu^ 
that ten-acre grove,” said the spinster, boldly. " Indeed, he 
confessed as much to me after you had run up-stairs to 
bathe your e^^es in rose-water. Didn’t you, Sydney?” 

" If I did, it was in confidence, and you had no right to 
make the confession public,” replied he, still laughing, at 
what Kate could not see. The whole episode was foolish 
and witless beyond expression to her refined notions. Syd- 
ney marked her downcast looks. " Never mind, Katie ! ” 
he said, affectionately, but still carrying on the jest. " Don’t 
look so reproachfully at me. I’ll never tell tales out of 
school again, I had no idea you would take it so much to 
heart.” 

This was said as they arose from the table, and he passed 
his arm about his wife’s waist as he spoke. She would have 
eluded the embrace had not the regards of the rest been 
upon them, and her good sense told her that any display of 
pettishness would be the prelude to a fresh volley of teasing. 

They walked thus to the door on their way to the piazza, 
when Eliza called after them, mockingly, — 

" That’s right, Syd ! make your peace with her if you 
can ! A terrific curtain lecture is in reserve for yoxi, and 
you will do well to have it over as soon as possible. I would 
not be in your j)lace for a fortune. I have a aispidon that 
your better half is peculiarly gifted in that line.” 

Again Sydney’s sole rejoinder was a laugh, that soimded 
Uke a puerile cackle to Kate’s excited sense® j for excited 


262 ^ FOB BETTER, FOB WOBSBL^ 

she was, — childish as she would have been ready x) cali 
such emotion in another, — angry beyond anything that Syd 
ney could have conceived possible, regarding the whole 
scene from his different stand-point. She freed herself froir 
his hold by a movement that was decided without being 
rude, and, instead of repairing with the others to the piazza, 
which was the summer smoking-room of the gentlemen, and 
the resort of the ladies on wann evenings, she turned up 
the staircase leading to her room. 

‘‘ Where are you going, little one ’’ called Sydney from 
the foot of the steps. 

I shall be back directly ! she replied ; and when out oi 
his sight at the turning of the hall above, she flew along the 
passage as if pursued by a pack of furies. She locked 
her door and fell into her seat flushed and panting. She 
had been insulted ! held up to general derision ; made 
the laughing-stock of one who was inferior to her in every 
respect ; whom she disliked and despised, and her husband, 
— he whom she had named her hero and her master, had not 
defended her ! nay, more, he had actually joined in the coarse 
nonsensical banter! And all through fear of offending 
that detestable shrew, Eliza. Eather than anger her, he 
would sit calmly by and see his wife openly assailed, \ilely 
persecuted. Here she found that she was crying fast and 
hard with vexation, — with wounded feeling, she thought. 

In blissful ignorance of the tempest he had aided hia 
sister to raise, Sydney smoked his cigar below, in abounding 
peace and quietness ; his shapely boots crossed upon a foob 
rest, his then betrothed had embroidered as a birthday gift 
for him three months before, and discussed the affairs of the 
nation and our foreign relations ” with his father, and the 
exceeding beauty of the night with his mother and sisters. 
Frue, Elate was wanting from the family circle, but he wa# 
aot afflicted by an absence that must be of so short duration 


203 


“fob BETTEB, fob WOESBi’* 

de never borrowed trouble — this youthful Sybarilo, 
whom life had, thus far, been a cloudless morning. How 
was he to divine what salt showers were falling in tliat 
locked chamber overhead ? As the red, swollen rim of the 
moon appeared above the pine-tops, Anna, the youngest sis- 
ter, a somewhat romantic girl of eighteen, began to warble 
Schubert’s Serenade.” Sydney loved music next to his 
wife, and removing his cigar from his mouth, he fell into a 
sonorous, yet mellow bass, that set the echoes of the nearer 
nill-tops to vibrating. 

Kate dried her tears when she heard that. He is insen- 
sible as stone ! ” she said, contemptuously. Until then, she 
had intended to remain within her barred door until he came 
to seek her, and to sue for forgiveness. Now, she determined 
not to give him this advantage of a private settlement of 
the quarrel. She smoothed her hair, bathed her eyes with 
ice-water until the lids were nearly bloodless, and descended 
to take her accustomed place in the evening group upon the 
porch, with the haughty nonchalance of a young princess. 

Here is a seat ! ” said Sydney, offering a chair next 
to his. 

She accepted it with thanks. To decline it would have 
elicited a tender inquiry from him and a sarcastic one from 
Eliza. You see, she was beginning to fear the famous little 
black dog, too. But when he laid his hand in her lap, she 
did not close her fingers upon it as usual, whereat he turned 
to her with a look of surprise. He might as well have ad- 
dressed the mute appeal to the Sphynx, — ‘‘staring right on, 
w-fth calm, eternal eyes.” 

“ I heard yc u singing,” she was saying, kindly and pleas- 
antiy to Anna. “ It sounded delightfully up-stairs. What 
wa^ that little ballad you were humming in my room, this 
morning, while you were sketching the view from my win- 
dow ? ‘Lady mine !’ were all tl;e wo;^ I caught,” 


264 


*^FOE BETTER, FOB WORSB.’^ 

“ That is as old as the hills,” said Eliza. 

But very sweet and pretty, to my taste,” returned Kate^ 
quietly negligent of the objection. ‘^Sing it, dear; will 
fou not ? ” to the younger sister 

Anna was ][ leased that her vocal efforts had won the appro- 
bation of so competent a judge, and at once launched her 
fresh young vioce upon the rippling stream of melody Kate 
had designated. 

‘‘ That lover deserved nothing less than the loss of her he 
insulted by his doubts ! ” exclaimed Sydney, when the last 
lines had been sung. ‘‘What woman of sense and spirit 
would endure the reflections upon her constancy set forth in 
every verse ? They make his loving repetition of ‘ Lady 
mine ’ an unmanly sneer. Listen ! — 

** *Thoa art pore as moontain snowii 

Lady miMt 

Bie the aim upon them glows, 

Lady mine t 

Bat the noontide hath its ray, 

And the snow flakes melt away, 

And hearts — why may not thine, 

Lady mineT* 

Love without faith is not worth a rush ! ” 

“Hearts do change, however,” answered Kate, senteii- 
tiously. 

“ Not when they have been really won. Once gained, 
they are gained forever ! ” persisted the lover bride- 
gloom, 

“Yon liked the words well enough when Rita Lambert 
sang them ! ” said the inevitable ElLsa. “ There are some 
dozens of songs, all love-sick, that never fail to remind me 
of the tedious sittings and endless promenades you and she 
used to have out here, last summer, before she administered 
die rebuff that sent you flying off by daybreak one August 
morning, to Saratoga, to And healine for your stricken spirit 


265 


"tob bbtteb, fob woesb.^^ 

fou never knew, I suspect, Kate, that you caught his heart 
in the rebound ? ” 

I knew quite as much about it as did anybody else,” re- 
joined Kate, apparently uninjured by the sudden missile. 

The little black dog was rampant forthwith. 

Deluded soul I ” with a disdainful sniiT. But as Syd 
says about the crying scene in the woods, I wont tell \;ales 
out of school. I don’t mind cautioning you on one point, 
though. Rita is coming to us next week. You had better 
keep a close watch upon your husband while she is here.” 

“ I will trust him ! ” said the wife, involuntarily. 

Sydney’s hand clasped hers tightly and warmly, a token 
of gratitude that changed bitterness into sweetness before 
his whispered “ Thank you, my darling ! ” reached her ear. 
He spoiled it all, the next moment, by saying, in the delib- 
erate tone of one who is considering a very dubious question, 
I am not sure that it is safe for you to place too much 
reliance in my fidelity under the circumstances Eliza men- 
tions. I am but human.” 

There is but little in the last sentence as it meets the eye, 
but he contrived to throw into it a mournful significance 
that excited the mirth of all his auditors with one excep- 
tion. Kate was sensitive and straightfoward, besides being 
madly in love with her handsome husband, and she could not 
understand the motive that beguiled him into jesting upon 
a topic so delicate as his constancy to her, or — what 
amounted to the same thing — her ability to retain the love 
she had won. Besides being foolish and in bad taste, such 
sentiments were utterly inconsistent with those he had 
expressed, not three minutes ago, — Once gained, gained 
forever.” 

She prided herself upon her knowledge of human nature, 
but she had not yet learned that ninety-nine out of every 
hundred men, who have achieved a reputation as lady* 

m 


266 "JOB BETTBB, FOB 

killers, never part with the memory of their triumphs ih 
that line, or the ambition to maintain the character m 
which their laurels were gained, even if they live to be an 
hundred, save one, years of age. Still in the ashes ’’ of 
their ancient charms ‘‘ live the wonted fires ” of conoeit am) 
desire to prolong the day of their conquests. Had Kate 
understood this, she might have overlooked the spice of 
masculine vanity that prompted her husband^s remark, and 
laughed with, rather than at him, or she would more pro- 
bably have winced and wondered at the flaw in her em- 
bodied ideal. As it was, there was left upon her mind b^ 
the occurrences of the evening — all of them pitiful trifles in 
the recital — a shadow, like that made by an acrid breath 
upon steel that, however polished, is yet imperfectly tem- 
pered, or not altogether pure. She forbore to reveal the 
divers uncomfortable things that had disturbed her equani- 
mity when she had the opportunity of private conversation 
with Sydney. Explanation and apology were for him — not 
her. He offered neither. The simple truth was that 
upon his accustomed ear Eliza’s spiteful darts rattled like 
peas from a boy’s pop-gun upon a warrior’s helmet. If the 
patter became too sharp and continuous, he got out of the 
way, or threw a sop to her ill-conditioned Cerberus. Gen- 
erally, he made it a rule to forget all about her picayune 
battery by the time she was through speaking. That a sen- 
sible woman like Kate should ever attach tthe least impor- 
tance to anything his sister might say or do when in “ on*f 
of her humors ” never entered his comfortable imagination. 
In that one adjective lay the key to handsome Syd Bent- 
ley’s” character. He dearly loved comfort of body anA 
spirit. The incessant petting that had been his portion 
from babyhood had not spoiled his sweet, equable temper, 
or rendered selfish impulses naturally generous and noble, 
or -vitiated the powers of an excellent mind. But it had 


267 


“lOB BBrrEE, FOB WOESE.^ 

engesdered a love of ease, and the belief that freed(»m from 
sorrow and annoyance was his birthright. To secure this, 
he would exert himself as few other inducements could 
tempt him to do. He got out of, or around a difficulty 
frheaever he could — seldom over one; and when the 
obstacle of his hienret/re — a French word he was fond of— 
was stubborn, he had the rare faculty of forgetting it — 
putting it behind his back. 


m 


‘^FOR BETrER* FOB WOBSB.'^ 


CHAPTER TL 

If occurred to Sydney, several times, during the week 
succeeding the evening described in the last chapter, that 
Kate was more quiet than was her wont, and once or twice, 
that it was a sad quietness; but his affectionate queries 
as to the cause of her depression, if such existed, were 
easily parried, so easily that she was cut to the quick by 
his seeming indifference to her visible unhappiness. He 
was the more astonished, therefore, when, upon the day pre- 
cediiig Miss Lambert’s arrival, she broke out impetuously 
with, — 

** Sydney, I wish you would tell me truly if you were 
ever in love with this girl who is expected to-morrow ! ” 

They were sitting upon she spot where we had our first 
glimpse of them, — Sunset Eock, ” Kate had named it, — 
side by side, her head upon his shoulder. They had been 
silent for perhaps five minutes, and he started at the vehe- 
ment question that ended the pause. 

lley-day ! ” h 2 said merrily. What is the meaning 
uf this? You are not growing jealous, surely, my pet?” 

‘‘ Not jealous ! No ; I should scorn to be that ! At 
least” — more slowly — I think I should! But it an- 
noys me to hear Eliza’s perpetual allusions to your * old 
flame’ and ‘ I/ove’s first young dream,’ and the need of re- 
doubled biilliancy on my part, if I would not be eclipsed, 
and the like unkind remarks. If I knew the truth, I 
should not be so entirely at her mercy. ” 


26& 


BETOSB, FOR WOESB.^’ 

Sydney laughed heartly. My precious child ! ’' he said 
recovering himself, ‘^what a frightful man of stiaw you 
have been manufacturing for your discomfort and my 
amusement ! Is it possible that you mind Eliza’s fanfaron- 
ades ? They affect me about as seriously as does the rust- 
ling of these leaves above and about us in this westerly 
wind. She does not mean one-hundredth part of what 
she says. It is only hei way ; a habit she acqidred when 
she was a gay giddy girl, and has not laid aside. When 
you come to know her better, you will learn that she pos- 
sesses some admirable traits and a throughly kind heart. 
She always shows the worst side first.” 

He defends her readily enough at the least approach to 
censure from me ! ” thought the wife, sullenly. But she 
may deride and berate me all day long, and he dare not 
utter a syllable in my defence. Is this diffidence, or moral 
cowardice ? ” 

Sydney mistook the meaning of her lowering brow. 
^ Will you smile again for me, dear, if I assure you that 
I was never the least bit in love with Miss Lambert ? that 
I never desired to marry any other woman than her whom 
*1 now hold by the hand,’ whom I hope to hold cloiely 
and fondly, as I do this moment, until we go down, 1 and 
in hand, into the dark valley at the end of life ? ” 

Her disengaged arm crept around his neck, and her 
blushing, happy face was hidden upon his shot ider. 

Thank you ! thank you ! I did not know, until »JOW, 
that I am so gloriously happy. How I dreaded lesv yon 
should say that you had loved and wooed her before you 
did me ! ” 

Do you know, little one, that it is naughty to be greedy ? ’ 
said Sydney, with the playful tenderness that became him 
more than any other mood, smoothing her # rown hair, 


m 


FOB 1JETTBR, JOB WOBSB.” 

tlien lifting her head with gentle violence that he XBi|^t 
search her eyes with his. 

Indeed, I am not selfish — so selfish, I mean, about any* 
ihing else; but I have been miserable, and uncharitable^ 
Mid cross ” — 

He stopped her mouth with a kiss. ^^Ho more hard 
words about my wife, madam ! But ’’ — laughing again — 
‘‘ how emphatically you brought out those words — ‘ that 
girl ’ ! You looked so spiritedly beautiful as you enunci- 
ated them, that I cannot regret the occasion that excited 
your ire. Wait until you see the dangerous rival, Katie 
darling, before you conclude that I was ever ‘daft’ with 
love for her. She is pretty, insinuating, and clever, after 
a certain fashion, but she has no more real heart than there 
is in an iceberg. She is a mere flesh-and-blood doll, with 
nature’s own red and white cunningly laid on, dressed in 
the height of the mode, with exquisite taste in the matter of 
ribbons, laces, and perfumes. Further, this deponent saith 
not.” 

Miss Lambert was expected to supper the next evening ; 
and when Kate appeared in the family sitting-room a 
quarter of an hour before the carriage which had been sent 
for her returned from the depot, Eliza met her with a disa> 
greeably meaning smile. 

“ Got up to order, I see ! ” 

“ How handsome you are ! ” said Mrs. Eisley, the married 
sister, whom Kate liked and esteemed as thoroughly as she 
despised the elder. “ Sydney ought to see you just now, 
while your roses are fresh and new.” 

He is remarkably well entertained where he is,” rejoined 
Eliza. “ I doubt if he would exchange his present compan- 
ion for any other.” 

He had gone in the carriago^to meet the guest. 

Kat6--as was but natural and seemly — had attired 


271 


"jrOB jtotEiEl, toA WOEBB.” 

telt as lie liked best to see her, with just a suflScient touch 
of ambition to outshine the new-comer to make her crimson 
guiltily at Eliza’s coarse comment. She had said to herself 
up to that instant, that her foolish jealously of the red-and 
white doll had evaporated into the merest mist before Syd 
ney’s emphatic denial that there had ever been any tendei 
passages between him and the beauty. She had been very 
happy since the restoration of her confidence in him, and 
she was resolved not to regard pin-pricks, however annoying 
they might be. So, she smiled gratefully at Mrs. Eisley’s 
compliment, and seated herself near Mrs. Bentley, a placid 
old lady, who had thrown up the reins of government to 
her energetic eldest daughter so many years before that she 
had outlived the very memory of fi:eedom. 

“ You are looking very sweetly, my love, ” said the amiable 
mother-in-law. White is very becoming to you.” 

I must beg leave to differ with you there, at least,” 
contradicted Eliza. She is too dark and sallow to look 
well in anything but bright colors. It is a pity, Kate, that 
your style is not more decided. You are neither very fair, 
nor yet a clear brunette. Rita Lambert, being an unmistak- 
able blonde, with a brilliant complexion, looks magnificently 
in white.” 

It was very hard to bear — these continual exhibitions of 
personal animosity and violations of the commonest rules of 
civility and good breeding ; but Kate was a genuine lady ia 
nature and breeding, and she restrained her risiug choler. 
Since the mother and sisters failed to rebuke the rudenes 
offered her, it was not her place to complain of it. 

She would not ha'v e had time for remonstrance, indeed, 
for Ihe carriage rolled around to the front entrance as Kiza 
ceased speaking, and the four ladies pressed into the piazza, 
to receive the favorite visitor. Kate did not arise from her 
Beat, anil was left alone in the parlor. She distinguished, 


278 “ FOB BETTEB, FOB WOESK.^ 

amid ihe confusioii of other voices, a strange one, — a melloi* 
contralto, — the accents of which affected the ear as thn 
downy sorfitce of silk velvet the finger-tips. 

** I have been telling him that he has acquired the ooIf 
and idr of ^Benedick the married man’ sooner than anj 
other person I ever saw,” was the one connected sentence 
that reached the solitary inmate of the drawing-room. 

Then Eliza’s thin treble jingled discordantly upon the 
duloet tones, ‘^Hasn’t he? You see, Sydney, I am not 
the only one that thinks you have been tamed in a marvel- 
lously short time.” 

Sydney made some jociilar retort, and as the clamor of 
women’s voices died away up the stairs, he entered the 
room where his wife awaited him. His eyes kindled in 
falling upon her, and when she arose to receive his kiss, 
he smiled and said a caressing word. His next movement 
— a singularly abrupt one for him whose motions were 
habitually deKberately graceful — was to approach a 
mirror and inspect his full-length image as therein re- 
flected. 

Have I really grown so much older and graver, 
Katie, love? Do you see any marked change in my ap- 
pearance ?” 

‘‘Since when?” she asked, somewhat shortly. 

His mind was so full of the derogatory criticism passed 
upon his good looks, that he had not noticed hers, was 
more blind to the pleasing effect produced by her tasteful 
appai'el and heightened color than his mother and sisters 
had been. Kate — albeit her besetting sin vas not personal 
vanity — felt the oversight keenly. 

‘‘ Bita Lambert will have it that I am quite another 
man from the one phe parted with a year ago. She more 
than intimated that I was looking sober and dull, — passi, 
m she put it.” 


271 


‘‘for better, for worse.’^ 

Looking up to scout the assertion of the sanqr boUe^ 
Kate’s face beamed suddenly with love and prides approxi* 
mating adoration. 

‘^Apollo was never more royally beautifidi” eBCiq)ed 
5ier, before she knew what she was saying. 

Royally beautiful ! The epithet was not too forcible for 
die features and figure upon which her eyes feasted. The 
honest outburst of the fond heart went straight to that of 
the hearer. What signified the praise or disapprov al of 
others while this loyal lover was his — all his — and he 
perfection in her estimation? Catching the contagion of 
her impulsive maimer and speech, he dropped to one knee 
upon the rug at her feet, and raised her hand to his lips. 
‘‘My queen I noblest, dearest — and, to me, fairest of 
women ! ” 

She bent low to kiss his forehead, without care or thought 
of rival or mischief-maker. 

“ For decency’s sake ! ” said Eliza, angrily, from a side 
door. “ For decency’s sake, don’t be enacting your private 
theatricals in this part of the house! You can rehearse it 
your own room to your heart’s content. I never saw such 
absurd and shameful carryings-on as we have here, nowa- 
days. Sydney, I am astonished at youV'^ 

The stress upon the pronoun rendered her iosinuation too 
offensive for Kate to brook. 

“ Do you hear what she says ? ” she exclaimed, to her 
husband, her cheeks white as her dress, and her eyes 
parkling with anger. “Am I to endure this always, 
without complaint or redress ? — - to be hourly browbeaten, 
slandered, inmdted^ and you not speak in my de^ 
fence?” 

“ Hush ! hush ! my dearest!” Sydney glanced nervoufllf 
towards the open door. “Eliza is in jest” — 

“Not I!” interrupted his sister, stoutly. 


274 


“fob bettek, fob woesb.” 

“Ev'eryoody laughs at love scenes,” continued the worst 
than perplexed Benedick. dare say we — you and 1, 
my pet ! — would be highly diverted ourselves, were we to 
stumble upon a tableau vivcmt like that which Eliza inter 
nipted. She did not mean to wound you ” — 

Don’t apologize for me ! I can take care of myself! If 
your wife has taken umbrage at my language, I don’t call 
upon you to protect me. Only fools and cowards run scream 
ing to ^ husband,’ whenever any one crooks a finger at them. 
Pah !” and the virago left the field clear, before her brother 
could recover wits or breath to answer her latest and most 
audacious remark. 

Kate sank upon a sofa, and buried her face in her hands. 

I am very sorry this has happened, my precious one !” 
said Sydney, sitting down by her and trying to draw her to- 
wards him. Eliza was very wrong. She had no right 
to address you, or to speak of you in the way she did ” — 

“ Why didn’t you tell her so, then ? ” demanded the out- 
raged bride, confronting him sternly. Bemember, I shall 
never appeal to you for help, comfort, or protection again ! 
no, not if the knife were at my throat, and I knew that a 
wdrd from you would save my Ufe 1” 

Sydney drew back aghast. ‘‘ Kate I are you raving ? You 
cannot mean to say such terrible things !” 

“I always mean what I say, and I am not afraid to say 
what I think !” Without waiting to witness the effect of 
this “double-header,” she shook off his hold and marched 
out of the room. 

Sydney had a profound respect for appearances ; and sorely 
discomposed though he was by this stormy episode, he met 
Sdiss Lambert, as she descended to thi parlor, twenty minutes 
later, with the urbane cordiality that rendered him so popu- 
lar as a host, and a handsomely turned compliment to her 
unimpaired comeliness, which won from her a reconsida:a> 


275 


"fok bettee, fob tvobse.^ 

fcloa of lier expressed judgement as to tlie traces of time and 
matrimony upon his. She had been premature in pronouno 
ing her verdict, she was graciously pleased to acknowledge. 
He was looking quite his former and younger self. 

‘‘ But whei d is Mrs. Bentley ?” sho asked, looking around 
the room. I am all impatience to behold your divinity*^’ 
She has been suffering with headache all day ; she is 
lying down, just at present. I hope, however, that she wiD 
well enough to appear at supper-time. Her desire to 
meet you surpasses yours to know her.” 

What further lie he would have improvised to cover the 
awkward gap left by his wife’s retreat to the rear was not 
to be proved. At this point of his discourse he detected a 
lurking glimmer of malicious amusement in Miss Lambert’s 
eye, and the truth rushed upon him, to wit, that his beloved 
sister Eliza — with her customary contempt for the oi dinary 
expediencies and proprieties governing most family squab- 
bles — had, without doubt, primed her favorite Rita with 
the latest bit of household scandal before she left her dress- 
ing-room. Controlling his countenance as best he could, he 
exchanged a few not very dexterous sentences of badinage 
with the fascinating visitor; resigned her to his sisters, 
and wended his way with a quaking heart, to his wife’s 
chamber. 

Her scornful words had cut him deeply, but the smart 
was already less keen than it had bee^ at first ; and gauging 
her nature by his own more placable one, he hoped to find 
her amenable to reason and t>axing. He had no reproaches 
for her. Why should she not be as willing to forgive and 
forget ? All young married people had these slight alterca- 
tions, — passing clouds, — that made more fair and dear the 
restored sunshine. E^ate unlocked the door promptly at hia 
familiar tap, but left him turn the bolt fo - nimself. This 
was an ina\ispidlous begiiming, but he must not be da?mted 


276 ‘^FOB BETTEE, FOE WOKSk” 

by trifles. Since the task must be accomplished, he wotild 
go straight on with the work of reconciliation. He had ex- 
pected to see her dissolved in tears, but her eyes were dij 
— and resolute. 

^‘Come, my beauty!” he said, in bhtLe coaxing. **Tet 
will be served in a few minutes, and Miss lAmbert is in the 
parlor awaiting anxiously an introclaatiaa tc yc'Su’* 

“ I am not going down.” 

“ Wluit .^” queried Sydney, incredulous as to the fidelity 
of the auriculars that conveyed to his mind the stunning 
reply. 

‘‘ I shall not leave this room until Eliza asks my pardon 
for her unprovoked insolence I” rejoined Kate, in calm deter- 
mination. 

Sydney absolutely staggered to the nearest chair. Don’t 
say that, my love, I beg ! You do not know how obstinate 
she is ! She will never retract one iota of what sh-^ has once 
said.” 

‘^Very well! Then I stay here, until it pleases you tc 
take me away from this house, never to return.” 

“ Kate, my sweet giii ! in mercy to my father, my mother, 
and the sisters who have not offended you — who love yov 
dearly, and who would be heart-broken were they to know 
of this unhappy estrangement ; in pity for me, whose very 
soul is bound up in your happiness, do not persist in 
tliis cruel resolution ! You punish the innocent with the 
guilty!” 

He talked on and on, argoing, soothing, and entreating. 
Kate stood like a statue, every line of her face fixed and 
pitiless. In the midst of the scene the tea-bell rang. Sydney 
was in an agony. 

“ This wretched story will go the rounds of my acquaint- 
ances !” he exclaimed, in frantic despair. ^‘Eita Lambert 
would enjoy nothing more than to get hold of it, and repettl 


2^V 


^ FOB BETTEE, FOB WOBSB. ’’ 

it to everybody she meets who ever saw or heard of me. 1 
shall be the laughing-stock of town and countrj ! I can 
never hold up my head in the world again!” 

Kate turned, A swift change went over her countenance 
It was not relenting, or sympathy with his anguish. 1 1 locked 
m(»re like contempt. I am ready ! shall we go down 
now?” 

She would not suffer the fondling with which he would 
have thanked her for her altered purpose ; paid no apparent 
heed to his praises of her good sense and amiability. While 
he was still pouring these forth she walked past him to the 
door, and he only overtook her upon the staircase. 

Miss Lambert, who had been gloating over the antioipa 
tion of witnessing a conjugal thunderstorm, was disappointed 
at seeing them enter the supper-room, arm in arm, he radiani 
and talkative, she colorless and taciturn ; but that might be 
her usual deportment to strangers. 

She can be agreeable enough, when it pleases her High' 
ness,” Eliza had said to her friend, in sketching her new 
and unloved sister, ‘‘but at other times she is lofty as a 
duchess. I should as soon have thought of Syd, with his 
ardent temperament, marrying a graven image, as such a 
woman.” 

IMiss Lambert quickly concluded that the present was one 
of the “ other ” and ungenial times, and was not daunted by 
the iciness of the bride’s demeanor. The beauty was not 
the doll Sydney had described her. She was a magnificent 
biOnde, with a creamy skin, dark-blue eyes, melticg lips, 
and golden hair. She, too, had chosen to bedeck herself in 
white on this evening; a sheer muslin, that floated in re- 
dundant waves downward from her pliant waist, and rolled 
in fleecy heaps upon the floor, and that softer ed, without 
concealing the bewitching contour of her arms and shoul- 
ion. A scarlet shawl had slipped from the latter to hei 


278 


*^rOR BETTEE, FOE WOESE.^ 

elbows, and supplied the needful dash of cc coring to th« 
picture. She saluted Kate effusively, and the unim pas- 
sioned reception of her demonstrations put a slight check 
t3|)on Sydney’s recovered cheerfulness. 

1 sincerely hope that your headache is much better ! ” 
mii the sympathizing Kita, when she had squeezed Kate’s 
hands very hard in both of hers, and been so rejoiced to 
meet one of whom she had heard so much.” I have so 
longed for this moment! Sydney — I beg your pardon — 
Mr. Bentley” — correcting herself with chsixmuig naivete — 
‘‘ told me that you were suffering intensely. I am a martyr 
to headache, myself; therefore I can feel for you. Do you 
often have these turns?” 

Very seldom ! I did suffer for a while,” replied Kate ; 
bat I am better now; quite well, indeed, thank you ! ” 
Sydney caught the meaning of the equivoque^ and bit his 
iip. But he did not interpret the lau^age of the scornful 
ray that gleamed suddenly through her long eyelashes. 

He is consistent, at all events,” was her thought.” He 
puts his principles into practice whenever occasion warrants 
their exercise. He has 4ied’ us both ‘out of the scrape,’ 
and done it with his usual cleverness.” 

The evening went off gayly. Sydney had never shone to 
greater advantage in person, conversation, and musical dis- 
play. Rita was graciously lavish of flattering phrases, hon- 
eyed words, and languishing glances; Eliza, caustic and 
•inscrupulous of others’ feelings and opinions, yet in a very 
docent humor for her. In originaKty and sparkle of though! 
Kate bore off the palm, and she appreciated her superiority 
as thoroughly as did the exultant husband, whose beaming 
eye or delighted smile applauded her every hon-mot. Still, 
there was nothing that could be mistaken for geniality in 
her words or manner. Her wit was like the play of northern 
i’ghta upon ice, — weiid-like and dazzling. Even Miss Lam< 


379 


^WOn BWTERy FOB WOBSB.” 

bei*t was kept at a respectful distance, and there were few 
wlic could remain proof against her blandishments. 

‘^Sydney!” she said, abruptly, by and by. Again— 
forgive me ! It is hard to forget old habits,” 

Don’t trouble yourself to forget this one,” rejoined Syd 
ney, pleasantly. ^ Mr. Bentley ’ is very stbff and awkward 
from your lips. What were you about to say? ” 

‘*To ask if you saw Bachel as Camille in ^Les Horaces, 
rhen she was in this country .” 

'^did. Why?” 

Look at Mrs Bentley — not your mother, your wife — 
<ts sne stands now, and tell me if you do not see her wonder- 
ful resemblance to the great artiste ? ” 

Kate and Anna were engaged upon the famous duet in 
Norma. Anna was singing, and Kate stood quietly by, 
awaiting her turn. She wore a dress of white alpaca, with 
a very full and long skirt. The evening was a cool one, in 
early autumn, so cool that a wood-fire had been kindled 
upon the hearth. Kate had coughed slightly an hour before, 
and Sydney, taking alarm, had rushed up-stairs for a shawl. 
Man-like, he had chosen to bring down the handsomest she 
possessed, — a white one, with a rich Indian border, the only 
article of dress he had as yet given her. She had thanked 
him, quietly, as he folded it about her, and Miss Lambert 
had gone into ecstasies over the beauty of the cashmere. 
Kate wore it, as she did everything else, gracefully. Her 
white draperies fell in motionless curves and folds, that 
looked hke classic marble. Her eyes rested upon the piano- 
keys and Anna’s swift fingers; her mouth was sad and 
stem. 

*^iiachel was very homely, was she not?” asked Eliza, 
feigning childish simplicity. 

She wag beautiful when she willed to be so,” responded 

" ‘ " ‘1 


380 


"foe betteb, fob wobse.^ 

Miss Lambert adroitly. "You observe the likeoeoi^ Ai 
you not? ” to Sydney. 

" I certainly do ! It is wonderful, as you say 1 ” 

He was gazing at his wife, as if he would never let her 
pass from his sight. Kate’s hearing was remarkably acute. 
She hfctd not lost a word of all this, alth:)ugh Anna war ex 
pending all the strength of her sweet little voice in agonizing 
entreaty that Norma would in pity hear her. But she did 
lose that look of prideful affection, and the smile that accom* 
panied his reply. 

Eliza saw both, and her acidulated nature overflowed. 

‘*How differently people are impressed by the same ob- 
ject! Now, I was just thinking that Kate reminded me 
painfully of a corpse, laid out, d, la mode^ in white merino, 
with a bunch of flowers upon her breast.” This referred to 
a bouquet held carelessly between Kate’s fingers. 

"You shocking girl!” cried Miss Lambert with a hys- 
terical giggle. 

Sydney was silent. 

Anna glanced up surprisedly, at Norma’s delay in begin- 
ning her part, and all conversation was suspended as the 
mponsive burst of passionate music filled the room. 

** When the heart is cold that should have cherished 
Every hope of joy it falsely gave, 

Wooldst thou have me live? Ah I no, tboa wooUM Mil 
lataoltlMifnMt* 


381 


B&ITEB. FOB WOBSK.” 


CHAPTER in. 

^ KatE; I met Rita Lambert ia the street to-day.’* 
"Ah!” 

The interjection did not encourage a continuation of dio 
subject, and Sydney waited a moment before renewing the 
conversation. 

‘‘ She sent her love to you, and told me to say that she 
meant to waive ceremony with such old friends, and come to 
see you.” 

"Did she say when I might expect her?” 

" She mentioned to-morrow evening, I think. Will tha fc 
be pei*fectly convenient to you^^ ” 

" Quite as convenient as any other time.” Kate leaned 
over to take up her sick child from the crib, and busied 
herself with her, smoothing her hair, adjusting her wrapper 
more comfortably about her limbs, and moistening the hot 
lips. Then she laid the little head upon her shoulder, and 
commenced rocking Her to and fro. 

"How is she to-night?” asked Hydney, affectionately, 
stroking the feverish cheek with his cool fingers. 

He was a very woman in his knack of treating invalids 
and babies. 

" About the same.” 

" Papa has something pretty in his pocket for Lulu I ” 
pursued the father. " Will she come and see it?” Tht 
little one sat up and stretched out her arms. "Papa's dar 


282 


^^FOE BETTEE, FOE WOE8B.’’ 

ling ! ” murmured Sydney, taking the light weight into liii 
own. She has fever still, has she not ? ” 

She has, all the time,^ answered ELate, in patient weari^ 
ness, unable to repress a struggling sigh. 

It caught the husband’s ear. “You are not anxious 
about her, are you, dear? I met the doctor, to-day. He 
says that her symptoms are the inevitable consequence of 
scarlet fever, such as he sees in dozens of other cases in his 
daily practice. He assured me, voluntarily, that there was 
no occasion for alarm. I am much more uneasy about you 
than on her account. Children have a wonderful surplus of 
vitality. She will come out all right, by and by. You are 
growing very thin and pale, my pet ! It gives me an inces- 
sant heartache to note and think upon the change. When 
baby grows up, she must never forget what mamma has 
done and suffered for her, during this sadly anxious Fall.” 

Kate made no answer. Not a muscle changed in her still, 
grave face. She wrapped the child’s afghan about her feet, 
as she lay in her father’s arms, engrossed by the examination 
of her new treasure, a picture-book emblazoned in glowing 
and varied colors. The mother resumed her chair, and 
seemed to be occupied by an elaborate piece of needle- 
work. 

But her eye never, in reality, left Lulu. She had been 
married more than six years, and this frail bud only had 
been given into her bosom. She was now in her third year 
— a remarkably pretty child, a softened miniature of her 
handsome father ; yet so delicate that the mother had never 
known the perfect sweetness of proprietorship in this, 
Heaven’s }>est gift to her woman’s heart. One after another, 
the maladies incident to infancy had done their will upon 
the fragUe little being, until it seemed as if each had left 
her no strength to meet and cope with the next. Still, she 
did resist the blighting luff uenoes, and, within the ftat weeli^ 


m 


“lOB BEITER, FOR WORSE.’’ 

the watchful nurse had allowed herself to hope that the 
elasticity of constitution which had home her througl so 
much might eventually triumph; her cares be abundar 
rewarded by the establishment of healthful vigor. She was 
not dreaming of this to-night, however, while her needle 
moved rapidly through the slip she was fasliioning for hex 
darling. She was doubting whether the dainty garment 
might not become her baby’s burial robe. The apprehension 
had started into life out of the apparent plenitude of her 
husband’s confidence in the child’s convalescence. 

“ He is trying to deceive me. The doctor haa admitted 
to him the fact that my baby is in danger. His pretended 
solicitude about my health is a plausible blind for hia true 
feelings respecting her.” 

She asked no questions. Her life seemed failing her, 
drop by drop, as she followed to its heart-rending conclusion 
the fancy that had gained a lodgment in her mind ; but there 
was no present remedy for the slow torture, for that felt 
like mortal heart-sickness. 

“ He would not tell me the truth if I begged for it upon 
my bended knees. If he did, I should not believe him. ” 

The shadow of distrust that had fallen upon Kate Bent- 
ley’s spirit with the beginning of the second month of her 
mairiage, had increased steadily until it was enshrouded 
in hopeless gloom. Never too merciful in judgment, she 
had brought her kindly-tempered husband — easy of con- 
science and facile of speech — to the test of hei rigid 
rules of morality and taste, and found him wanting. His 
careless tongue she condemned as wickedly mendacious; 
his dread of annoyancj, his hon'or of disagreement with 
those he loved, moral cowardice. Her eyes once opened 
to these flaws in a character she had wilfully chosen to con- 
sider faultless, her verdict far outran the positive evidence 
of his unworthiness. and she believed him in nothing. In 


284 


"for better, for worse.’^ 

stead of regarding his foibles as mere ofFshoota. fche pruiitii^ 
of which would bring symmetry out of irregularity withou 
tmxhjhg the vital part of the plant, she had sjJttled stub 
bomly down into the persuasion that the stock was evil U 
the root. 

Not to another living being had she ever breathed a hini 
of the deadly corrosion that was eating into the fine goW 
of her wedded happiness. She was bound to him for life, 
find she must support, as she could, the wretchedness result- 
ing from her great mistake. She would be to him still a 
faithful and obedient wife — yes! and a loving — despise 
herself as she might and as she often did, in that her affec 
lions yet clung, like ivy to ruins, to the fragments of her 
shivered idol. Yet she felt a thrill of pride, sometimes, 
in his beauty, undimmed by the years that had passed over 
them since their bridal day; in his heroic presence, his 
manly accomplishments, and conversational powers. Her 
heart had not learned to beat evenly when other tongues 
praised these things in him, and congratulated her upon her 
fortunate lot. She schooled herself to indifference ; to the 
mechanical performance of the duties incumbent upon her 
as wife, housekeeper, and mother. For weeks together 
slie would delude her reason into the conviction that this 
omscientious regard for moral and legal obligations was her 
sole incentive in making his home pleasant to himself and 
his friends; could meet, unmoved, his loving eyes, and 
receive, without a quicker motion of the languid blood, the 
caresses that had once been swet test luxuries ; could reply, 
in measured, passionless accents, to his fond inquiries as 
to the origin of her visible depression. Again, in an un- 
guarded moment, when the thii*st of the emptied heart was 
at its height, a fond word, an act of tender generosity, — 
it might be the inflection of a tone that recalled those early, 
Uissful daya^ — would rend the frozem rock to its centre, 


"fob better, for worse.” 28 iS 

and the tide of anguished yearning baffle her at'empts at 
control. 

A.t these seasons she had wept hysterically upon his 
bosom, or lain in his arms for hours together, the great 
silent tears gathering and dropping; grief he could not 
fathom or understand, but which distressed him none the 
less because the source lay deeper than his ken. Gradually, 
he had ceased to inquiie into the cause of her disquiet. 
When the fit came on, his arms and heart were open to her 
as ever, and his fond soothing as freely bestowed. In the 
cold reaction^ the hauteur or apathy that succeeded the 
indulgence, he likewise refrained from remonstrance. He 
never complained of her, let hbr humor be reserved or 
reckless, gloomy or sarcastic. What he suffered as these 
periods of apparent indifference lengthened and the break- 
ing up of the frost occured at rarer intervals, she never 
thought. 

Nothing hurts him long ! ” she would reason, bitterly, 
when a pained look crossed his face, or his voice, always 
gentle to her, had a pathetic cadence that touched her, 
against her will, in her angry or contemptuous mood. ‘‘ Na- 
tures like his have the faculty of forgetting whatever mars 
their selfish ease. For that matter, how can I be sure that 
the sorrowful expression and sad tone are not counterfeits ! ” 

Lulu was mightily entertained, for a time, with her 
pictures and her father’s explanation of them ; but at length 
the mother detected a sharper ring in her eager voice, 
noticed that she was growing excited and irritable. 

Let me take her ! ” she said to her husband ; " she will 
weary you. ’’ 

“Not she ! Papa is never tired of amusing his birdling. 
I wish you would leave her entirely to my care and lie down 
for an hour, dearest ! ” 

Conscious that she had been guilty of a virtual equivoca 


286 


^FOB BETTEE, FOB WOBSE.^ 

tion in not assigning tlie true reason for liei interruption) 
Kate colored slightly. 

^^Slie is talking too mach, ” she replied, without noticing 
his affectionate proposal. “ The doctor warned me against 
excitement.” Putting by her work, she tried to coax the 
little one to resign her plaything. Lulu shall have it again, 
to-morrow. Mamma will rock her and sing a pretty song. ” 
‘‘ No ! ” screamed the child, clutching the books with one 
hand and twisting the fingers of the other in her father's 
luxuriant hair. ‘‘I don’t love you one bit! Go away, 
naughty, ugly mamma! Lulu will stay with her sweet, 
pretty papa ! ” 

There ! my baby mustn’t cry ! Shall papa walk awhile 
with her ? ” asked Sydney, pressing his ch«»ek to hers, and 
hushing her sobs as by magic. And the beautiful book 
shall sleep in Lulu’s arms while she is riding ! ” 

Kate had not avoided the slap aimed at her face by the 
tiny hand, but she paid no outward regard to it. Retreat- 
ing to her chair as the child became composed, she took up 
her work. ‘‘ His policy in everything ! ” was her medita- 
tion. ‘‘Temporizing and flattering! raising no issue that 
cunning or coaxing can avoid; not even to set a mothex 
right, to uphold her authority in the eyes of her child I ” 
Forgetful that she had cautioned him against exciting the 
sick babe, not two minutes before, she observed, with envy 
that was not far removed from savageness, the pair in their 
turns through the room ; the feeble hand still intertwined in 
the raven hair, and the weary head sinking lower and lowcsi 
toward the father’s shoulder, until it lay there in motionless 
slumber. Sydney continued his walk and the low murmur 
of his lullaby until the picture-book slipped from the nerve 
less fingers to the floor; then he halted in front ofhiswifii 
with a happy, satis^^ s^e. 


281 


“fob beiteb, fob vroEsa” 

** Papa is not a bad nurse, after all, is he ? Shall I laj 
her in her crib, or do you wish to hold her ? ” 

^‘She will rest more quietly in her crib. It spoils a child 
to hold it upon the lap after it is once fairly asleep,” an* 
Bwered Kate, frigidly ; and Sydney felt rebukeil for havmg 
nffered the precious head to lie upon his shoulder one in 
•tant after the golden lashes had fallen together. 

Without offering to touch the sleeper, Kate smootlied the 
sheet and warmed the pillow, and motioned her husband 
to lay his burden there. Then she turned away, leaving to 
him the task of covering the child. 

My beautiful angel ! ” said the fond father, kissing the 
sunny curls floating over the pillow. She grows mor^» 
lovely each day — does slie not ? ’’ 

She is a very pretty child ! ” without a look toward her, 

Sydney’s task of love being accomplished, he came to the 
back of his wife’s chair, and rested one arm upon it, watch- 
ing her darting needle and the work that grew under it. 
That is very handsome ! Is it for yourself? ” 

No ; for Lulu.” 

He said no more, when she did not offer to unfold the 
pattern for his further admiration. One might have fancied 
him abstracted, but his thoughts did not wander beyond 
the silent figure before him. These reveries had become 
habitual to him when she was indisposed to converse. Her 
moods were often less than inviting; seldom so repellent 
as that which now possessed her. She had not, however, 
concealed her feelings so adroitly that he had not gathered 
from her demeanor and chance utterances that her married 
life had proved to her a bitter disappointment. This, a 
humiliating discovery to any husband, is pregnant with 
keenest mortification and sorrow to those who have loved 
most truly, striven most faithfully, to bring about a contrary 
result. He had not aucce^ed in making Ler happy^ 


288 


^FOB BETTEB, FOB WOBSB ” 

ardently as Le Kad hoped to do this. Yet how hard and 
how long he had tried to meet her ev^ry wish, to ward off 
care I Not that he had any just cause for complaint. She 
had consulted his tastes and comfort in every arrangement 
of her household; been a true wife to him in sickness and 
la health ; winning daily upon his regard by her womanly 
ni'tuet^ the graces of her mind and person, her steadiness 
of purpose in all worthy enterprises, her avoiiiaco of aiJ 
that v'as mean and base. He loved her with a depth and 
sincerity which was a higher tribute to her character than 
had been the more demonstrative passion of the honeymoon. 
She seldom encouraged him to express this in words, and 
the pain of repression, at first so new and sharp, had settled 
into a dull aching that never left him. 

It had made a different man of him than the buoyant, 
funny-tempered Sydney Bentley, who, people used to say, 
was born to good fortune, it appeared to come to him sa 
naturally, and he was so well suited to the enjoyment of the 
bounties showered upon him by nature and circumstance. 
Trouble went hardly with him, especially the pangs of 
grieved affection; but, in the strength of his love for her, it 
was easier to endure these and make no sign, than to see 
his wife droop with mysterious sadness, or unexpressed 
desire, and not dare ask why she mourned. 

Dare !” That was just it ! He stood, with bound 
hands and sealed lips, and saw the distance between them 
grow wdder and wider. Her will was not to be questioned, 
Jtnd that will was an impassable barrier to his inclination to 
search out the reason for their growing estrangement, hia 
longing to restore matters to their old footing. Her lightest 
wish was his law, and she knew her power. He feared her 
frown more than the reprobation of the whole world beside, 
and she knew that too. 

It was impossible to brood upon these things and nol 


289 


FOB BETTES^ FOB WOKSR ’ 

groyr restless under the yoke, let her wlio imposed it be 
never so dear. He caught himself wishing, in a vague, sad 
way, that she were less rigid in her ideas of right and 
wrong ; less scrupulous in her performance of what she held 
to be duty, in its remotest particulars ; wishing, in biief, that 
^ho were more like other women, or he better suited to her 
needs. She had left him behind, — so he exci sed the tinct- 
ure of disloyalty in this thought; — outstripped him so fai 
in the march toward excellence that he could not hope to as- 
pire to her level, and he felt lonely. He had never, until 
this hour, allowed the shadow of a reflection upon her con- 
duct to enter his mind, but he was weary with disappoint- 
ment and chilling failures. His nature craved 

“ A creature not too bright and good 
For human nature’s daily food.” 

He was tired of making all the advances and receiving all 
the repulses. 

Kate looked hastily up at his heavy sigh. Her eyes were 
full of tears, and the unguarded movement dashed one over 
the brimming lids. She averted her head, as she felt it upon 
her cheek. 

‘‘ I am a pitiful fool !” said Sydney, inwardly. Bui 
I’ll be hanged if I can stand that ! I’ll risk annihilation 
drst ! stake all upon one chance ! ” He knelt down by her 
side and wound his arms about her. ‘‘ Kate, love ! my pro 
cious wife ! What is this nameless, terrible sorrow that h 
killing us both ? What have I ever said or done to wound 
f- u so deeply that for weeks and months together I im 
ii^ver blessed with a real heart-smile, a voluntary word ol 
liive? Upon my knees I pray for a return to the dear, 
early days of our love. If tears came quickly then, smiler 
were more ready to chase these away. I know the fault 
must be mine, mine alone ; for you are the soul of goodnem 
find justice. You would net inflict the horrible pain I havi 
25 


290 


"FCit BETTEB, FOE WOESllJ.^ 

felt in the dread lest I might have forfeited your 
respect, wiiho*'it eveellent cause for punishing m^. Ha re 1 
not aone penance long and severe enough to atone fu mj 
unintentional wrong-doing? And I so love and woi\hi| 
you ; my darling 1 my darling ! ” 

1I» would nob leb her go, although she struggled to vm- 
oind nis arms. His pleadlrig eyes, misty with feeling, gaied 
up into hers ; his mouth quivered with pain, and his voice 
was plaintive as a child’s. 

Kate was terribly tempted. Tempted to forget his weak- 
ness, his laxity of principle, his manifold deceptions and 
misrepresentations, his deficiency in moral heroism, — all 
the blemishes that had degraded her impossible ideal into 
the very human and therefore very fallible man ; tempted to 
bury these in the recollection that he was still her husband, 
whom she had taken for better, for worse,’^ in a compact 
naught but death could annul ; tempted to cast over every blot 
that marred her present conception of his character, the veD 
of pitying affection; to cling to him yet more truly because 
of the frailties that begot that compassionate tenderness, and 
while clinging, strive to correct the faults which had 
wrought his debasement in her esteem, and her conse'|uent 
misery. Before this temptation, whether it was the weak 
j.lea of a woman’s too partial love, or the instigation of hei 
guardian angel, her usually firm will swayed and s^^ained 
?pnnjfttitariiy, like reed before a rushing, mighty wind^ 
i.hen sTubbomne>ss — she hailed it as rectitude — retunmd 
her spirit. 

She ceased to struggle. Unmoved in aspect and calm 
intonation, she gazed straight into the mournful eyes that 
besought her clemency. She even lifted a lock that had 
strayed over his forehead, and laid it back, bub it wa* 
rather the ajtiou of a mother rectifying a chance disonV 


m 


- BBTTEB, JOB WOBSB.’^ 

in the appearance of a grown-up son, fhan the toying of a 
wife with her husband’s silky hair. 

My poor Sydney ! Are you then unhappy, too ? Dear, 
rotum to the blind, blissful days of which you speak is im- 
possible. I should only deceive you were I to raise hopes 
I can neTer fulfil; were I to lead you to suppose anything 
else. With me, the desire has failed with the expectation. 
This is a merciful provision of nature. When we have 
ceased to hoi)e, we learn, with greater or less ease, to curb 
our wishes. We are no longer boy and girl lovers, each 
believing the other a combination of angelic perfections, and 
life to be made up of midsummer holidays like our wedding- 
day. That phase of our joint existence has passed. It is, 
hereafter, to be remembered as ‘ the tender grace of a day 
that is dead.’ You know that can never come back.” 

She paused. Still the fixed look of supplication; still 
the clasp of the arms that bound her waist like bands of 
steel. 

It was bitter to let it go, dear ! to see the romance fade, 
little by little, one ray after another, out of one’s life. But 
we are too wise to waste our time in useless lamentations 
over the irrevocable. Let us accept our destiny as it is, 
like a brave man and a submissive woman. Duty, when 
rightly pursued, is not a bad substitute for hppe.” 

The sad eyes lingered upon hers with one last look, so 
earnest and penetrating, she feared lest it had read her soul 
its dept! ; ^len elo ’>ed, — a quiet fall of the lids that sig- 
joalled to her apprehension the farewell to hope she advised. 
When they were lifted, the mist was gone. Dry desola- 
tion, that expected and asked nothing, was there in its 
place 

In arising, he stooped over and kissed her. Let it be 
as you wish. I would not force your love and confidence. 
Mine can never change. T was nevei good enough for you. 


m 


“ FOB BETTEB, fob WOBSB.^ 

r wjirned you, long ago, that you would some day dijcovef 
this for yourself. I think that I loved you well enough to 
have ma<le myself over again, if you would have liked me 
better for the change. But kt it pass! You never say 
v]»at you do not mean, and you say that it is too late.” 

A nother sentence, and her rigid self-possession must haine 
given way. The simple dignity of his acquiesence in her 
v^eidict ; his gallant vindication of herself from all blame in 
bheir estrangement, wrought more powerfully upon her de- 
termination than oceans of tears and volumes of protesta- 
tions could have done. The sentence was not spoken. He 
laid his hand upon her head, in blessing or as a token of for 
giveness, if he had aught in his mind of which other men 
might have complained, and left the house. 

She listened until the echo of his slow footfall died away 
in the quiet street ; then bent her forehead upon the railing 
of the baby’s crib, too wretched to pray or to think connect- 
edly. 

I have cut away the last prop that stood between me 
and utter despair ! ” she murmured, by and by. But it 
must have come at some time. As well now as later ! De- 
lay would have made the wrench no easier.” 

During Lulu’s illness, her mother had spent many nights 
upon a low bed in the chamber adjoining her own, and 
wliich was fitted up as a temporary nursery. The child 
required much attention at night, and her restlessness and 
the attendant bustle in the room would have disturbed the 
father’s slumbers as well as those of the untiring nurse. 

1 could not sleep if she were awake,” Kate had replied 
to her husband’s entreaties that she would permit him to 
relieve her protracted vigils. “It is unnecessary that twp 
should lose their rest, when one can do all that is needed for 
her comfort.” 

Yet, each night, Sydney had come into tlie nursery befioiB 


293 


‘^FOB BETTEB, FOB WOBBE.^ 

retiring, with minute inquiries as to the health of th i little 
one and her mother’s ability to sustain the fatigue of thf 
approaching watch, and not left them until Eiate had lain 
down and Lulu was asleep. 

Tfvnight, he came home at the usual hour. There had 
bo?:: an imdelined dread upon the wife’s spirits antil she 
heard the click of his key in the outer door, that she might 
never see him again; that his solemn, imspoken leave-taking 
presaged a final sepanvtion. She had undressed and betaken 
her aching head to the pillow, half an hour earlier, — a freak 
of pride or wilfulness, which she deluded herself into fancying 
was a judicious measiire for one suffering and exhausted as 
she undoubtedly was. In reality, she meant that he should 
not imagine that she had sat up for him or expected his 
accustomed visit. The childish folly was sufficiently pun- 
ished by the agony of expectation that hearkened to every 
sound from the adjacent chamber; to Sydney’s slippered 
footstep upon the carpet; the rattle of his watch-chain, as 
he laid it upon the marble top of the bureau ; the fall of a 
book he had accidentally struck from the table ; and still he 
did not approach the door of communication. Finally, the 
line of light beneath this went out, and all was quiet. For 
the first time since their marriage day, he had laid himself 
down to rest without kissing her ‘‘ good-night.” 

The haggard countenances of both, when they met in the 
breakfast-room, showed that their rest had not deserved tne 
CLAme ; out neither alluded to the conversation of the previous 
evening. They talked %f Lulu, whose fever had left her 
entirely, an<l whose clearer eyes and playful tricks they 
hailed as auguries of speedy recovery; of the weather; the 
morning news; of everything excepting themselves. There 
was no need for Kate to play the defensive, now, against the 
loving demonstrations and inquiries she had learned to 
avoid lest they should beguile her in*io openness of speecs^ 
25 "“ 


294 


^^FOB BETTER, FOB WOB6E.” 

and corresponding warmth. Sydney’s tone was friendly, kind, 
pleasant. A third party at their meal would have decided 
that there was nothing to conceal on either ride; that he 
was as fond as are a majority of husbands; a trifle more 
attentive to his partner’s wants, perhaps; but, that he, with 
bis lady-like and self-possessed wife, had outlived the period 
of wedded sentimentalism. And nine out of ten people 
would have decided that their behavior was eminently 
decorous, pre-eminently sensible, and quoted, knowingly, the 
hackneyed saying setting forth the interesting character of 
love talk and love scenes to the parties engaged in it, and 
their exceeding stupidity to the beholders thereof. 

When did Miss Lambert say that she would be here?” 
inquired Kate, in pursuance of her laudable design of pre- 
venting awkward breaks in their chat. 

To tea, this evening. She said something of a wish to 
pay you a visit of a day or two, but I did not encourage the 
intimation. I mentioned in reply, that Lulu occupied much 
of your time.” 

There had been a scarcely perceptible shadow on the 
wife’s brow, as the proposed visit was named, a knitting of 
the forehead, which the husband knew signified dissatisfac- 
tion. It had vanished when the concluding clause of hia 
remark was spoken. 

WTiere is she staying? ” 

“ With her sister, Mrs. Shenley.” 

She has been in St. Louis for two or three years, has 
she not?” 

She has. Her eldest brother lives there. She is the 
youngest of a large family,” 

‘‘ Has she altered much since you last saw her? ” 
“Hem-m-m! No; I think not. She looks just about 
the same. I expected that she would have married at the 


295 


'^FOB BETTEB, FOB WOBSB.’’ 

Wtsij but ske Beems to be in no hurry to resign the libei-tj 
she evidently enjoyB,” 

Et cetera, etc., etc., until breakfast was over, when Sydnej 
arose from the table, kissed his wife formally; took up hii 
child in a warm embrace ; inquired if there were anything 
he co'ild do for the pleasure or coii^iort of either during 
day ; advised Kate to leave Lulu with the nurse long enough 
to take a walk or ride herself in the bracing outer air, and 
went off to his office for the rest of the day. llieir divided 
U£9 bed fiftirl j b^gim. 


^ 90 M FOK 



OBLAPTER rr. 

Kate had a caD that day, at noon, from Doctor fimMcil 
He had been the family physician and personal friend of th». 
Bentleys for years, and, like some other popular practition 
ers, was a bit of a gossip. 

I saw Sydney for a moment, yesterday, in Moulin’s 
saloon,” he -said, when he had pronounced his little patient 
decidedly better. He was discussing a capital ice in capi- 
tal company ; namely, with Miss Lambert. I had not seen 
her before in an age. She wears wonderfully well, and 
looks refreshed, instead of blase^ after her Western campaign. 
She was never handsomer than on yesterday. I stopped to 
pay my respects to her, and to corroborate Sydney’s decla- 
ration that our small lady here was not so ill as to rendei 
it inexpedient that Miss Lambert should accept his invita- 
tion to visit you.” 

^‘He told me that your report was encouraging,” re- 
marked Kate, quietly. 

The doctor was very scrupulous in whatever had the 
remotest bearing upon his professional repatation. 

Oh ! as to that I had very little to say. ‘ Doctor ! ’ he 
called, as I was passing, ^ are you in too great a hurry to do 
me a good turn?’ I answered that I was at his service. 
‘ Then please certifj to Miss Lambert that my little Lulu is 
not too sick for us — Mrs. Bentley and myself — to enjoy 
the society of our old friend. I have been begging her, foi 
half an hour, to gladden our sombre dwelling by the sun 


297 


"for better, for worse.^ 

aliine of her presence, but she is obdurate.’ The sly rascal 
'■emembered, you sef'*; that flattery was the belle’s natural 
aliment! I merely rt5plied that I did not consider the 
child dangerously ill, although, to be candid, I did not like 
the constant recurrence of the febrile symptoms. They are 
rare in conralesence from such an attack as she has had* 1 
am more rejoiced than I can express to you, my dear 
madam, to observe their abatement to-day. Good-morning ! 
I shall do myself the pleasure of calling while Miss Lambert 
is with you.” 

Mamma, mamma!” repeated Lulu, impatiently, tug- 
ging at her mother’s sleeve, ten minutes after the man of 
medicine and news had made his smiling bow; ^^Lulu 
wants a drink ! ” 

Kate put the goblet to her lips with a dreamy, preoc- 
cupied air. She smiled in replacing it «pon the stand — a 
gloomily sarcastic curl of the mobile mouth one would not 
care to see twice upon a woman’s face. 

"Lulu must lie still awhile, now. Mamma has a letter 
bo writd,” she said, giving the little one her new picture- 
book. 

She sat down at her desk and dashed off the following 
note to Anna Bentley : — 

" My Dear Sister, — Sydney met Rita Lambert yester- 
day, and invited her to take tea with us this evening. She 
objected to making a longer visit on account of Lulu’s sick- 
ness. Can you see her during the forenoon, and ask her, in 
my name, to pass a week with us? And cannot ycu spare 
as much of your valuable time to her and to us ? Lulu is 
very much better, but I cannot as yet leave her entirely to 
the care of her nurse. Meanwhile I am poor company for 
Sydney. He needs enlivenment, ard I know no two peo- 
ple who could cheer him up more effectually than his pei 


298 


•fob bbtteb^ fob wobsb.^ 

sister and iiis old fe,vorite Rita* Please say to IMiss I*aoa 
bert bow earnestly I desire her compliance with my peti- 
tion ; also, that I would give my invitation in person, were 
it not that my convalescent is exacting of mammals notice 
to-day. Come early, and let me know at what hour I may 
send for your trunk. Love to mamma and Eliza. They 
must spare you to me for a few days. It has been a long 
while since I had a real visit from you, 

Affecticmately, 

• Kate Bentley.” 

Sydney walked heavily up the steps of his own dwelling 
that evening. Kate might have thought her heroics thrown 
away had she known how completely the recollection of 
Rita’s proposed visit had escaped his memory, He had 
encountered her upon the threshold of the confectioner’s 
saloon; they had eaten their ices together, and, partly 
because it was natural and easy for him to say things agree- 
able to his listeners, partly because he was honestly pleased 
at meeting an old aquaintance, he had rattled on after the 
fashion of his bachelorhood, brightly and thoughtlessly, 
with no prescient warning as to the dragon’s teeth he was 
sowing. 

He unlocked the front door, and a burst of merry music 
greeted his ears, ceasing while he yet stood in the hall, and 
succeeded by the softer and more joyous sound of laughing 
voices. Peeping furtively in at the parlor door, he saw 
Kate seated by the fire with Lulu upon her lap, Anna kneel- 
ing upon the carpet before the two, playing with her niece 
— and, towering before them in one of 1 er finest poses ^ ex- 
pressive of tender benignity toward mother, babe, and 
aunt, was Rita’s voluptuous figure, fuller, and, if possible, 
more instinct with seductive gince tlian when she played the 
willing Chloe to his Stephen in the moonlighted garden 


299 


“fob better, fob worse.” 
walks and piazzas of his father’s comtrj-house seven 

IlgO. 

Few women liked Rita Lambert ; because, msinuau?d the 
ungallant stronger sex, it was considered ‘‘ the proper thing” 
for most men, who had the opportunity offered them, to go 
through the form of homage at the shrine of her overween- 
ing vanity. At twenty-six years of age, when most of her 
contemporaries were beginning to lose the lustre of their 
early charms, she had bloomed into a wanton luxuriance of 
beauty, the sight of which purchased for her no increase 
of favor in feminine eyes, while the men went into madder 
ecstasies than ever over her affluence of charms. Up to this 
day, Kate had never been jealous of Sydney’s admiration for 
her. It was too openly expressed, and avowedly too exclu- 
sively a mere pleasure of the eye, for a reasonable wife to 
fear. Furthermore, until now she had always been confi- 
dent in the strength of her tenure upon her husband’s 
affections. Distrust his other protestations though she did, 
when he declared his love to be unchangeable in fervor and 
hers alone, she had believed him. The doctor’s good-natured 
loquacity had set a germ which had grown faster than 
Jonah’s gourd, and borne fruit more poisonous than helle- 
bore. 

The casual meeting in the street had been a prolonged 
interview in the saloon of a fashionable confectioner ; Rira’« 
proposal to visit her, a hardly-wrung consent to his importu- 
nities that she would brighten his sombre dwelling by the 
lunshine of her presence the doctor’s reassuring statement 
of the child’s improvement in health, a trumped-up story to 
allay her maternal fears and insure his favorite a longer 
stay beneath his roof than would be compatible with pro- 
priety or humanity, were the mother, meanwhile, racked by 
fears for the life of her babe. This fresh development of Ms 
dtiplidty sent her thoughts back to the evening oi» wMcIi 


800 


^FOB BETTEE, FOE WOESB.^^ 

slio had firBt- heard Rita Lambert’s name. His formes 
flame,” Eliza had styled her. 

“I believe it now!” Kate said between her clenched 
teeth. I was a fool not to see and believe it then !” 

Close upon this came the daring resolution to invite her 
to tlie house and watch them with lier imseah.d eyes. She 
had begun to relent in her })ui’pose of treating him as one 
who had forfeited all claim to her confidence, to whom she 
was united by a nominal, because a merely legal tie ; begun 
to question secretly whether it were indeed possible for love 
to outlive respect. Now, Love and Pity fled aflTrighted 
before the beldame Justice, as she seized the scales in one 
hand, the rod in the other. To secure the evidence neces- 
sary to convict the accused man, the devotee of this giim- 
browed goddess stooped to subterfuge ; wrote a letter, every 
third line of which was a lie, to decoy the accomplice into 
her righteous trap. She observed the meeeting of the su8« 
pec ted pair with perceptions sharpened to the last degree of 
acuteness. The flash and glow that went over Rita’s blonde 
visage, the responsive smile upon Sydney’s ; the clinging 
touch of the hand ; the cordial heai-tiness of his verbal wel- 
come bo his home, — none of these passed unnoticed, con- 
trasted as they were, with the careless familiarity of his 
greeting to Anna, and his formal address to herself when his 
devoirs as host had been paid. 

The passion for conquest was natural with Rita as was 
t)*o act of respiration. Perhaps, if the choice had been 
olfered her, she would have prefered to undertake the fasci- 
nation of an unmarried man. If he were intensely eligi- 
ble,” there was always the ulterior motive of securing a 
settlement in life ; but such chances being few, she as often 
tried her skill upon the lawful property of other women as 
upon that which, as yet, belonged to nobody in particular, 
&nd was, therefore, fair game. It was nothing to and 


“foe BirrTEE, FOR WORSE. ** 801 

Ices than nothing, that she occasionally broke a tiinple lov* 
ing heai't by tlie practice of her diablerie. If s? jie bestowed 
more than a passing thought upon such insignificant inci* 
dents, it was to congratulate herself that one of the demure 
kind,” as she denominated all wives who were content with 
the queendom of their own homes, asked for no loftier niclu 
in the world than the highest places in the afiections of 
their husbands and children, — the hateful, starched, prim, 
over-good sort,” — thus Miss Lambert’s set wrote these down, 
— that one of these, the coquette’s natural enemies, had, 
however sorely against her will, been compelled to lower 
her spotless crest and own the regal flirt her conqueror. 
A pattern wife” is, in the vocabulary of the gay sisterhood, 
a more opprobrious term than even old maid.” 

Rita had come nearer to breaking her heart, or whatever 
portion of her frame did duty for that usually necessary 
organ, for love of handsome Syd Bentley, in his bachelor- 
hood, than slie had ever done before or since. He had 
slighted her, as she imagined, and she had neither forgiven 
nor forgotten the aflfront. It is superfluous to remark, after 
adverting to this fact in her early history, that her aversion 
to “ married prudes ” and “ model spouses,” in the abstract, 
was aggravated into rancor in this instance by a sense of de- 
feat and a hankering after revenge upon the audacious 
creature occupying the place she had selected as her own. 
For the furtherance of tliis pious design, she could not have 
asked a fairer opportunity than her rival had afforded her 
by her invitation to pass a week in the society of her cov- 
eted victim. 

Anna was extravagantly fond of children, and Lulu, her 
only niece, was her greatest pjet. When Kate moved to 
cnri7 her up staire, after sup])er, the doting auntie quai 
felled with her for the privilege of playing bearer to her im- 
perious little majesty, and gained her point, transferring 


m 


^¥OR BETl’KE, FOB WOBBK.’^ 

the light burden from the mother’s arms to her 3wn, aiut 
bearing her off in tiiumpli. Kate followed to undress and 
put the child to bed. The two dallied over the operations 
of disrobing and bathing the delighted babe, after the 
fiishion of all child-lovers, paying the inevitable penalty 
in enduring the sleepless and peevish fit that succeeded 
the untimely frolic. Finally she was quiet in bed, and 
nearly, if not quite asleep, and Anna made a feint of with- 
drawal. 

Her sister-in-law stayed her. ‘‘ Leave Eita to entertain 
Sydney a little longer,” she said. “ I want to have a long 
talk about your affairs. I have hardly had a chance to say 
a word to you for a month past. Sit do^vn ! ” 

Said ‘‘ affairs ” signifying Anna’s recent betrothal to one 
of the nicest fellows in the world,” she was not loath to 
sink to the low seat pointed out, rest her elbows upon 
Kate’s knees, and enter into fullest particulars touching the 
embryo trousseau^ the time when ‘‘ it ” would probably 
come off, ” and a thousand other things pertaining to the 
important it.” 

You see, Katie dear, there is no peculiar propriety in a 
long engagement,” said the frank Jiancke, Ed is doing a 
good business, and we have known each other for years and 
years. I wouldn’t marry a man whom I did not know 
thoroughly — his faults as well as his virtues.” 

“ You are right there ! ” Kate suppressed a sigh, and 
meant that her smile should be encouraging ; not incredu- 
lous. Anna was not renowned for keenness of spiritual 
perceptions, and she prattled on, imaware of anything in the 
expression of her listener’s eye or face that should have 
dampened her enthusiastic happiness or cast a doubt upon 
her boasted familiarity with her lover’s character. Kate 
led her on, seeming to hearken with a show of affectionate 
interest, while her ears were really sensitive only to sounds 


BEMEE, FOB WOBSE.^ 803 

&*om the parlor beneatli, the subdued hum of cjoiiversation, 
and, by and by, a melancholy prelude upon ihe piimo, ex* 
quisitely played ; then Rita’s voice, cooingly insinuativo in 
Bong, as in conversation, beginning the musical phase of her 
campaign in the ballad, ‘‘ Sleeping, I dreamed, Love.’^ 
Sydney did not sing it with her — a certain token to his 
wife that his had been the selection of the music. She 
saw liim clearly as with her bodily vision, standing behind 
the siren ; his head bowed, and eyes softened to languish- 
ing by the magic strains and more potent witchery of the 
rendering. He used thus to bend and listen when she sang 
to him dui’ing their short, happy engagement, which they, 
like Anna and her lover, saw no expediency in lengthen- 
ing beyond the earliest convenient limit. 

And in this remembered attitude she found him, when 
she assented, at length, to Anna’s proposition that ‘‘this 
was a very selfish enjoyment; that Rita would think it 
queer, and Syd scold if they did not go down.” 

Duets and trios superseded solos when the rapt couple aii 
the instrument were interrupted by the entrance of the late 
tenants of the nursery. Anna liked to sing with her 
brother, and furnished a somewhat feeble, but sweet second 
to Miss Lambert’s spirited soprano. 

“ Come, Kate ! ” said her husband, the frost of his imper- 
fectly learned reserve melting under the influence of hia 
favorite art, “ Rita is not familiar with this song. She will 
play the accompaniment, if you will sing.” He made a 
motion to cross the room and ’ead her to the piano, but her 
coldly civil accents stayed his lidvance. 

“ Please excuse me ! I am both weary and hoarse to- 
night ; I came to hear, not help make music.” 

She sat down by the centre-table with her work, and the 
concert proceeded. It appeared, upon a cursory examina- 
tion of the collection upon the music-rack, tint at least Bftj 


80 i "fob fob wobsb.” 

new aiid " divine” pieces of music were lacking " to complete 
such an assortment as you two should have, Mrs. Bentley.’' 
This from the siren, directing her blandishments Katewai J 

" if I could sing as you do, and could always con. mam 
iuch a liasso,” — beamingly upon Sydney, — " I am afraid that 
my fate would be that of the weaker, or more excitable 
thrush, of the pair celebrated in fable: that I should sing 
myself to death — pass away in musical breath.” 

" Euthanasia 1” observed Sydney, smiling. 

He was pencilling down the names of several of the duets 
she had mentioned, and did not see the countenance of the 
beauty. Kate did, and detecting the touch of embarrasment 
depicted thereupon, was certain that she did not comprehend 
the answer she had received. 

" A shallow, superficial parrot I” was the wife’s mental 
criticism. " Yet he admires gloss and chatter. All men do ! ” 

She did justice, however, to the adroitness with which 
the parrot covered her ignorance. 

" Anna, dear ! ” with girlish eagerness, catching at a sheet 
the other was turning over, " isn’t that the sweetest of all 
earthly duets — the one we used to be forever singing in 
“lang syne,” dear lost "iang syne?” Let me have ir, 
please !” 

She warbled a measure like a nightingale, if nightingales 
ever have contralto voices that nothing can suprise into 
shrillness. 

"lhat one line has painted a whole picture for me! I 
3 an see the mountains, dark with evergreens ; the flash of 
the silver rivers down the valley; the tree-shadows upon 
the lawn, and the glitter of the moonbeams upon the dewy 
grass; just as they looked on that never-to-be-forgotten 
summer. Heigho ! put it away, my darling, or I sliall grow 
romantic. Ladies of an uncertain age should rise superior 
to sentimental reminiscences I” 


m 


3X)R BETTER, FOE WOESk” 

Before any one could remark upon this pensive passage in 
talk that was usually lively to gayety, the keys tinkled unuer 
her fingers like a concert of fairy guitjirs, and she bioke into 
% charming little serenade ; — 

When the Balaiica 
1 r heard o'er the nea, 
ril dance the Roniaikai, 

Sweet love, with thee ! * 


^ Sydney ! ” She did not correct the appellation by 
Mr. Bentley,” in the seeming forgetfidness of her present 
surroundings into which she was prone to lapse, on this 
evening. ‘‘ Sydney ! do you recollect that glorious night on 
the sea-shore, when we waltzed on the sand, and how after 
the dance was over, you caught up a guitar belonging to one 
of the party, and sang the ‘ Romaika ’ ? It is strange what 
a charm such memories have for me ! ” 

Kate — unsmiling and taciturn — apparently absorbed in 
her sewing, contributing nothing to the general fund of en- 
joyment, — the type of a rigid task-mistress, who spared her- 
self no more than she did others. Beyond the centre-table, 
with its shaded burner, the blonde enchantress, all bloom 
and radiance — steeped in the mellow lustre shed down from 
the bracKets on either side of the piano — herself the incar- 
nation of light and warmth ; ready to reflect his smile, oi 
echo his sigh ; to sing him into transient oblivion of pain,, 
or to sympathize sweetly in what she but vaguely guessed 
fr mi tJie shadow that overcast his eyes when a break occurred 
in her pleasing flow of words, spoken and sung. Sydney, 
too, had his pictures to study that evening, and he was a 
man, — very man, moreover; one who liked sunshine and 
ease, and shuddered at gloom, let it overshadow" either body 
or spirit. Nobody knew his idiosyncrasies better than did 
his wife, but she did not bestir herself to render less painful 


S06 BETTER, FOB WORSE.’ 

the contrast presented for his inspection by tjie two figuret 
we have drawn. 

With persistency and system she would have condemned 
as malignant in another, she carried out the programme she 
had arranged for this decisive week. She withdi'ew into 
the background whenever her husband appeared in parlor 
or library, and granted Rita every accessory to her beauty 
and wiles the exacting flirt could have desired, had her 
wish been law. So utterly indifferent did Mrs. Bentley 
appear to the progress of the renewed intimacy that, Circe 
sometimes eyed her in wonderment and suspicion. Was the 
woman a bom fool, or was she wrapped in a fatal lethargy 
by mistaken confidence in the strength of her hold upon 
her liandsome lord, while he was being drawn nearer and 
nearer the uncertain and slippery verge where society — 
that despicable despot whom, nevertheless, no one excep* 
a downright madman ever yet did despise — declares inno- 
cent flirtation to end and crime to begin? Rita’s delicate 
foot had trodden sufficiently close to the piecipice in bygone 
days for her to understand perfectly what were her bearings 
now. She had also drawn others far into danger ; witnessed 
their feeble struggles and subsequent recklessness, and she 
believed the tempting prey she now sought to ensnare was 
safe in her silken toils. But she had never before had 
assistance in this pretty and most Christian sport from such 
a quarter. 

Positively she has not only resigned him to me, but 
fche pushes him into my very grasp ! ” muttered the tempt- 
ress, as she surveyed her finished toilet in the mirror in her 
chamber on the last evening of her stay in the hospitable 
mansion. ‘‘Can she hold her treasure cheaply? Has she 
found him too ‘ costly’ for every-day wear ? ” 

She was not choice in her language when soliloquizing ; 
coarse-minded people seldom are; and what professional 


307 


^FOR BETTER, FOR WORSE.” 

flirt, especially if she be a woman, is not oonrse in 
grain? 

Anna had accepted an invitation to take tea with Ed’'^ 
parents, who were, according to her, like their son, t.L 
nicest people in the world,'’ and Rita contemplated com 
placently the prospect of a tete a tele which should accnw 
to her profit and pleasure. 

‘‘He shall commit himself, even though nc [>oniLivr 
advantage can result from commital now. But it 'w ill be 
A consolation to hear from his own lips that I have conquered 
— that he laments me. Better late than never, and half 
a loaf is better than no bread. If I had done my work a}* 
well seven years ago, his destiny and mine would have \v orn 
a very different aspect. But I was a green girl then - im- 
pulsive and over-anxious. I have always been haunted 
by the idea that he saw the hook xmder the bait. So much 
the greater the victory now ! ” 

She descended to the parlor, her shining silk trailing and 
rustling down the stairs like the supple coils of a real serpent. 
The apartment was empty of human occupant ; but Psyche, 
Sydney’s tiny King Charles spaniel, lay coiled up, a flossy 
ball, upon a cushion before the blazing grate. Rita sat down 
upon the carpet beside her, her sheeny robes spread widely, 
and giving back the fire-rays from a hundred folds. Leap- 
ing sparks of prismatic hues betrayed the diamond-cluster 
below her white throat; the steadier glow of the 0]>al upon 
her finger suggested the beautiful oriental description of the 
gem, — “a pearl with a soul imprisioned in it. ” There were 
tuberoses in her hair and belt, and the room was soon filled 
with the powerful, yet languorous oder. Psyche raised her 
eurly head and winked her black eyes very fast and hard 
kt the dazzling apparition that had disturbed her nap. But 
%t the gentle, monotonous play of the jewelled hand over 
^ silky ooat^ slumber resumed its sway, and she sank anei« 


308 


‘^FOB BETTER, FOB WOESE.^ 

into her drowsy paradise. Rita did not Kke childreOi 
alth('ugh she could go into ecstasies, over what sho 
called, behind their parents’ backs, ‘^nursery fumiturew’* 
If mamma or papa were worth winning, she did ” petting^ 
including baby-talk, gracefully as she captivated husbands 
2nd made mortal enemies of wives. But the genus bab} 
was to her a disagreeable animal, to be shunned whenever 
policy permitted such avoidance. Of dogs and horses she 
was really fond. Had Lulu and Psyche fallen into the fire 
together, and the choice been offered her of saving one of 
the two, I am afraid she would have dragged out the spaniel 
without a moment’s hesitation. It was not in her nature to 
be cruel to dumb things, she was wont to say, with osten- 
tatious tenderness. Perhaps Nero might have murmurec 
a similar sentiment over his basket of pet puppies, while his 
pleasure-gardens were lurid with the flames fed by burning 
inart3rrs. 

Waiting there in the scarlet flre-light, — she was a very 
East Indian in her love of heat, — Rita began to croon a love- 
sick trifle that had yet in it a wild pathos which commended 
it to the ear and heart of the listener: 

^Mj soul, in one unbroken sigh. 

Breathes forth its love for thee; 

More fond than parent's love for chQd 
Or bird's for mate on tree. 

For thee I for only thee 1 " 

She repeated the refrain over and over, just above her 
breath, a sound hardly louder than the crackle and sigh ot 
the kindling sea-coal upon the hearth, but it drowned the 
noise of Sydney’s entraixe. He was close beside her before 
she betrayed the slightest suspicion of his presence. 

Alone ? ” he said, playfully. And * most musical, most 
melancholy ! ’ Don’t rise ! You look comfortable and 
picturesque as you are ! ” He took for himself a low 


m 


^ FOB BETTKR, FOB WOBSB,^^ 

m iieiue she had desi^edly left at her right hand, yet fai 
enough forward for her to see him without changing ax 
attitude she knew could not be improved. 

You came in so softly that I should have believed you a 
vision of my waking dream, had you not spoken,” she said, 
uaively. 

If he recognized the implication that his image had played 
a prominent part in her reverie, he neither said nor looked 
as much. Indeed, he seemed inclined to lead her awaj 
from the subject of her sentimentalizings over the embers. 

“ Where is Anna ? ” he asked. 

“Gone tv take tea with the Warrens, like a dutiful 
daughter-in-law elect.” 

“And Kate?” 

“ Up-stairs, I fancy. I have not seen her since dinner.” 

“ You have been lonely, I am afraid. ” 

A Httle blue ; that is all ! I ought to be ashamed to 
confess it, I suppose. But I have had a happy week, and 
it is over 1 ” 

“ Make it a fortnight ! ” suggested the host, readily. 

“ Why should I ! That would be gone more quickly than 
a day has often passed for me, in other circumstances, and 
I should be as reluctant to go at the end of the time as I 
am to-night. All the sweets of life fly frem me before I 
have fairly tasted them. I should be willing to die the next 
moment if I could quaff one perfect draught of bliss — just 
one ! ” 

“You would find it evanescent as the rest of human 
delights. ” 

“ Maybe so ; but it would be worth the trouble of living 
twenty, thirty — yes, forty years, to enjoy one such 
•econd ! ” 

“ The trouble of living 1 ” repeated Sydney, as he might 


310 


BETTEB, FOB WOBSE.^ 

reason with a pouting child. ‘‘What cause cf complain I 
have fou against Fate, I wonder! ” 

“What is yowr quarrel with her ? ” she retorted, instantly, 
directing a keen, upward look at his face. 

He changed countenance and color, and hastily evaded 
the thrust. A phrase of thoughtless gallantry came most 
easily to his tongue. “ Let me see your eyes again, Rita ! 
Do you know that they are opalline, to-night ? They match 
your ring in lustre and in the fire that glimmers far down 
within them.” 

She did as he bade her. But the fire was nearer the siu*- 
face, now. It deepened ajii spread into passionate expres- 
sion until he grew dizzy and breathless with gazing, yet held 
by some mystic magnetism of the senses or will, he could not 
withdraw that gaze. The woman’s whole frame was vivified 
by the electric flame. The mouth trembled, while it smiled ; 
the hands, that had lain crossed upon her lap until now, 
were clasped and slightly lifted in a gesture of marvellous 
grace ; her chest heaved high and quickly ; she was as lovely 
as angels ever are, or as fiends would appear when they steal 
angelic guise. 

Suddenly, when the pantomime was at the height of its 
beauty, a flood of softness rushed up, dimming the unholy 
fire. 

“ No, no I ” she cried, vehemently. “ They are not opals. 
They are said to have the power of winning and keeping 
love for the possessor. Whe loves me? Who ever loved 
me long ? I am the idol of an hour 1 the spoiled plaything 
of a day ! the selfish diversion of a week ! And in my fresh, 
happy girlhood, I dreamed of such different thin gs ! I have 
been burying broten hopes all my life long J ” 

She dropped her head upon his knee and sobbed aloud. 
When he slipped his hand beneath her forehead to raise it, 
be felt the hot tears upon his fingers. 


811 


BETTER, BOB WOBSE.^ 

**Rita, dear child ! This distrea is the morbid fanny of a 
•ad moment ! ” commenced Sydne r, making a tremendoui 
effort to confine his consolations rdthin the limits of broth 
erly kindness. 

Yes, I have always felt that you believed me shallow* 
hearted — incapable of deep feeling ! ” she interposed sharply, 
but it soimded like a cry of pain, not of temper. 

^*You are mistaken! I, with many others of your 
friends, do credit to your depth ancl warmth of feeling.” 

Friends I Don’t mock me by using that word ! ” she 
broke in again, her face kindling into an angrier illumination. 
‘‘ Don’t drive me to desperation, ?)3'dney, or I shall say that 
which you ought not to hear — wh'nh I shall wish to-mor- 
row I had died sooner than said 1 Forgive me ! I do not 
know what I am doing or saying ! But I am so sad-hearted 
and lonely. For years, my existence has been one long 
disappointment. And I have fancfed that you were not 
happy. I hoped you would sympithize with me, or, at 
least, respect my sorrow. I will be ttrongnr now, I could 
not bear your contempt ! ” 

She uttered the incoherent sentervces with a feverish 
rapidity that bewildered Sydney more and mere. 

My dear girl ! How wildly you talk ! My contempt ! 
We have known and loved each other too laug for that 

thought to trouble you ” 

«Ah!” 

The sigh soimded as if it had tom through the heart 
before reaching the lips, and ere he could anticipate her 
intention, the beautiful head lay upon his shoulder, so near 
his cheek that her warm breath fanned it. He did not 
a hrink from her. Few men would have experienced an 
instant impulse to rid themselves of a burden so lovely. 
But he withheld the caress she evidently expected. Tli^ 
oloquen^ wordless appeal elicited no passionate ref'pcneae 


jlS " FOB BETTEE, FOB (VOBSK.^ 

Whether or not she would have resorted to other wiles of 
reproached him for his insensibility, was not to be proved. 
The sliding doors of the adjoining library rolled soundlessly? 
back, and, chancing to glance in that direction, Sydney suw 
wife standing in the archway surveying the group upon 
vhe rug. 

With the force imparted by a great horror, as one leaps 
to his feet in a nightmare, he threw off the beauteous, yet 
hateful thing that had crept into his bosom. She had 
changed into a spotted, venomous serpent, when contrasted 
with the embodiment of pure womanliness he had ever held 
his wife to be. A second look at the doors showed him the 
empty arch. The warning apparition had disappeared 
silently as it had come. 

Rita had feillen to the floor, nearly crushing poor Psyche, 
who, rudely aroused from her bed of ease, limped, yelping, 
from the scene of action. 

^‘For Heaven’s sake, what was it?” gasped Rita, strug- 
gling to regain her footing, and approaching Sydney, as he 
leaned upon the mantel, his hands pressing his temples. 

He groaned and shuddered at her touch — a gesture of 
aversion which she mistook for suffering. 

^Are you ill? What startled you? Were you stung, 
or hurt?” 

Stung! Yes, fatally! Hurt to the heart! My wife 
was stan/ling over there, girl ! She saw and heard us ! ” 

At which appalling announcement Rita laughed aloutL 
» la that all? Well ! what of it? ” 

^ What of it ? It means that I am ruined — undone — 
wretched for Time, and, fc'r aught I can tell, for Eternity ! ” 
Don’t you believe it! Heroics migh*' deceive anothei 
woxoan, but between ua there need be no disguises on this 
head* Do yon take me for an idiot, Sydney Bentley ? Do 


313 


FOE BETl’EE, FOE WOESE.” 

fou iaiagine that I have not seen from the first month of 
four marriage — ay! from the very moment I first sa\v 
fou together — that you were pitifully mismatched? that it 
w»s impossible she should ever content you ? She is a cold 
beai-ted automat»jn, loving her husband just as much as ih 
law and the gosj)el tell her to do.” 

Not another word ! Do you know that you are speak 
ing to me of my wife?” The movement and tone of 
command restored something like dignity to the abject 
figure. She is a good, pure, noble woman, whom I love 1 
You are not worthy to loose tht latchet of her shoe — to 
kiss the hem of her gannent — while I ” — He turned away. 

Rita remained where he had left her, while he paced the 
room in extreme agitation. She, too, was wounded to the 
quick, but she would not lower her colors. There was a 
spice of dare-devil in her composition at ail times. It was 
rampant now, and her smile was dangerous, as she watched 
the restless figure striding over the carpet. 

Brazen it out ! ” she said, sententiously, seeing he 
showed no inclination to return to her side. 

I can never meet her eye again ! ” was the reply. 

Coming up close to her, he asked, between his set teeth, 
with a sinister gleam in his eye that had in it more of hate 
than any other emotion, which assuredly resembled love 
least of all, — 

‘‘ If I leave this country to-morrow for Europe wiD you 
go with me? Dare you stay here after this disclosure?” 

Rita laughed again, in genuine and contemptuous amuse 
ment. ‘^Dare I? Why should I go? Does it follow 
because you are a coward, that I must be one ? Moreover, 
1 question seriously whether any disturbance will follow 
what your fears have magnified into a ^disclosure.’ My 
humble opinion is that Mrs. Bentley will not vex her immacu* 
27 


S14 


^^FOR BETTER, FOR WOBSB.^ 

late soul about what she has seen, if indeed she :oald 
discern anything clearly in this flickering light. Nor do I 
think that if she drew from her discovery the inference that 
we were in love with one another she would fly into Aj'^sterici 
over it, or do aught else that was not cool and proper. A 
w^ife wbo does not exert herself to retain her husband’s 
afiection, should not complain if he apppeciates another’s 
charms. At all events, it is a good plan to wait and see 
what mischief is done before one betrays himself by covering 
it up. As to your European elopement, with many thanks 
for the honor done me by your offer of the trip, allow me to 
inform you that no woman of spirit would be likely to close 
in with a proposal delivered in that style. When I sacrifice 
country, friends, and fair name to link my fortunes wdth 
those of one of creation’s lords, it will not be for one who 
regards my companionship in his flight as a pis oiler, I 
hear iihe tea-bell ! Mrs. Bentley is the soul of piinctuality, 
as of all other first-class virtues.” She swept him a mocking 
curtsey in passing on her way to the door, showing her 
white teeth in a smile, as she did so. 

He neither moved nor spoke. He was transfixed by this 
abrupt abandonment of her seductive disguise; the disdain 
with which she had flouted his insane proposal. The shock 
over, he trembled at the imagination of what would have 
been his situation had she loved him well enough, or been 
so mad as to close in with it. Had he been dreaming ? was 
his next question. He could have persuaded himself of 
this, but for the bruised cluster of tuberoses that lay on the 
carpet, having dropped from her hair when he pushed her 
away. He picked them up and flung them into the fire with 
an execration. A vile plot ! ” he muttured. ‘‘ She meant 
to ruin me, knowing all the while that she was safe^ Shi 
in a demon, and I am a fool ! ” 


815 


“fob better, for worse.^^ 

The patter of small, uncertain feet came along the hall, 
and Lulu rattled the knob of the door: ‘‘O Papa!” she 
cried, as he unclosed it, ‘‘ Mamma says you must tome wigli( 
away down to supper. And Tousin Pita says, huny up 

tauae the muffings is all dotting told, and she ia dAoeadfvU^ 

hnngrri** 


sit 


BETTEE, FOB WCMOL^ 


CHAPTER VL 

When Sydney entered the supper-room, with Lulu in hit 
arms, Miss Lambert was standing at the back of her chair 
discoursing volubly to her hostess of the ‘‘loveliest” Parisian 
wedding-dress she had examined at the room of a fashiona- 
ble mantua-maker, that day. 

“You can imagine — you, who have such perfect taste 
yourself — you can conceive better than I can describe what 
must be the effect of the point-lace flounces looped over 
this superb skirt, with the darlingest, most perfect tuberoses 
you ever beheld ! I mean to have the counterpart of this 
toilet when I make Mr. Nameless the happiest of men. 
You could absolutely fancy that you inhaled the perfume of 
my favorite flowers, so life-like were they.” 

Sydney sickened at the words and the penetrating, cloy- 
ing odor diffused through the dining-room, as it had been 
through the parlor. 

“ It must have been very handsome !” was Kate’s politely 
commonplace reply. “We are waiting for you, my dear !” 

Few phrases are more meaningless than the conventional 
“ My dear,” with which wedded couples of long standing 
are accustomed to address one another. But this did not slip 
6rom Kate’s lips from force of habit. Sydney understood that 
she used it for a specific purpose ; that while it was to eon 
vey no tone of affection to his ear, it was to serve as a bar- 
rier against inconvenient inquiries or awkward reserve ; in 
short, tliat what she had witnessed less than half an hour ago 
97 * 


317 


*^FOB BETTER, FOR WORSB.’^ 

was to be as if it never had been, wliile the blue eyes that 
looked so soft, and were, in reality, so cruel, were upon 
their every look and action. 

Before they quitted the table, he was actually tempted U 
admit the supposition that she must have been misled hj 
the flickering blaze, as to the position in which she had lately 
beheld liim, while Rita, skilful dissembler as she was her- 
self, was morally certain that this was so. Kate was more 
gracious than usual to her guest, even pressing her to pro- 
long her visit; and when assured that stem necessity drew 
the reluctant Rita from her present delightful quarters, 
‘^hoping for a repetition of the favor, some time during the 
winter.” 

‘‘You will be down stairs soon, will you not? ” coaxed the 
hypocritical charmer, when Mrs. Bentley called to Lulu that 
she must go to bed. “I have had a horrible turn of the 
vapors this afternoon, and when I went to Sydney for con- 
solation, what do you think he ’^d? ” 

“I am sure I do not know.” Kate was stooping to take 
the child in her arms, and spoke carelessly. 

“ Why, instead of sympathy, I \vas treated to a lecture — a 
scathing one, tool” with a reminiscent shrug which Sydney 
understood — “a regular scolding for my childishness and 
morbia notions and general unlikem^ss to his nonpareil of a 
wife. If I didn’t love you so dearly myself, I should soon 
learn to hate you, you are so constanMy held up as a u ex- 
ample for the humble imitation of my im\)erfect self. You 
never have the blues, he says.” 

^‘Very seldom,” answered Kate, making another effort t'l 
get out of the room. 

Rita was at her heels. “This is my last nigbt hero, remem* 
her! and I have seen so much less of you than I hoped 
I should do when I accepted your kind invitation, that I 
leave with a sense of disappointment. I mean to veto tb’ii 


818 


^^FOK BBrriEK, FOB WOB8E.’’ 

evening, or, so much of it as you can spare for me, to get 
ting acquainted with you. Mr. Bentley tells me he has 
an engagement out.” 

Sydney did not stare at this unblushing fabrication. lie 
was stolid beyond the capacity of feeling I er covert insults, 
I must ask your indulgence for fifteen or twenty minutes,” 
said Kate, composedly. “ Lulu will suffer no one exce])ting 
myself to put her to bed. When she is asleep, I will come to 
you. Please amuse yourself as you like until then.” 

Rita pursued Sydney into the libraiy, when the coast waa 
clear. He looked around angrily as she rustled in, and re- 
moved his hat from his head. He was selecting some cigars 
from a drawer full of dainty Habafias, and refilling his pocket- 
case, prior to going out. 

“Don’t be alarmed, or vicious!” said Rita, in her sweet- 
est manner. “ I haven’t come to torment you before your 
time. I only want to ask if you are not convinced that 1 
was in the right : that your wife either didn’t see, or that she 
doesn’t care?” 

“ She would not have subjected herself to your contemp- 
tuous or pitying regards, had she seen and heard all that 
passed, even if the knowledge thus gained had afflicted her 
beyond the powers of endurance of an ordinary woman.” 

Another shrug, and a curl of the amused lips. “ Que c^esi 
drolel this determination to be miserable — this persistency 
in remaining uncomfortable! I thought you weie one of 
my kind. You needn’t say, ‘ Heaven forbid !’ as I see you are 
longing to do. I mean simply that I gave you credit for 
more philosophy, for a disposition to take life by the smooth- 
est handle it presents, and not dash yourself against the jag- 
ged edges. I should not be surprised if your intention at 
this instant were to atone for your latest peccadillo by an 
hour spent upon your knees in the matrimomiai confessional^ 


S19 


“fob better, fob wobsb.’’ 

Sydney lighted a cigar, and walked out of the apartment 
without answering. 

Rita did not speak \mtil she heard the clang of the front 
door behind him. Tlien her features were distorted by rage 
and mortification. “ The pitiful coward ! the gi'eat, foolish 
baby ! I 'would never have wasted a single round upon 
him, had I suspected of what stuff he was really made ! I 
am glad he didn’t propose to me when he was a bachelor. 
1 should unquestionably have accepted him, and made my- 
self miserable for the remainder of my days. Fancy my 
being tied for life to such a milksop ! He is gloriously 
handsome, though ! If he belonged to me, I would put him 
into a glass case as a parlor ornament ! ” 

She could swear and vow to herself that she rejoiced in 
her fortunate escape from the fate she pretended to believe 
would have been hers, had her girlish wishes been fulfilled 
but she was intensely chagrined at her failure ; ashamed of 
the undignified issue of her grand siege. She had never en- 
joyed an affair ” more. The unexampled facilities offered 
her for carrying it on had precluded the necessity of labori- 
ous intriguing on her part, and the partner to the in- 
teresting pastime was well worth the trouble of catching. 
But the most pungent and flavorous sauce to her pleasure 
had been the idea that she was undermining that love and 
respect for his 'wife which had grown into a proverb among 
the fast men and women of her set. 

I, the writer of this latter-day chronicle, am too thorough 
going a utilitarian to enter appreciatingly into the spirit of 
a flirtation with a man already married. If I must be alto- 
gether candid, I confess to an old-fashioned prejudice that 
bids me distrust the moral principle, along 'with the kindli- 
ness of nature of her who indulges her vanity at the risk of 
her o>vn reputation and another’s peace of min(h I am a 


320 


‘^FOE BETTER, FOE WOESE.^ 

dear lover of fair play, and when two celibate coquette^i ea 
gage each other in a test-duel, I may have my private opim 
ion of the good taste and delicacy of the exhibition, but 
I do not trouble myself with fears and misgivings as to the 
consequences of the affray. If either party come to grief 
in the sequel, it is only a matter of individual hurt, and the 
odds are greatly in favor of the supposition that the worsted 
combatant deserves all that he or she got, and a scratch or 
two more. If the mock fight result in the enslavement of 
both. Hymen steps in decorously, and winds up the afiair to 
the satisfaction of the world at large and the (present) de- 
lectation of the pair most nearly interested in the ceremony. 
But this careless or malicious infringement upon the solemn 
rights of another, and that other an imoffending sister, is 
dead contrary to my code of morals, and, I may as well add, 
religion. If God has ordained marriage as the highest state 
of earthly felicity, and His solemn Let not man put asun- 
der ! ” warned off the sacrilegious touch from the repository 
of wedded loves, the conduct of those who vote flirting with 
single men — or women — an insipid entertainment in com- 
parison with the triumph and excitement of a so-called Pla- 
“^onic affaire with the husband or wife of somebody else, is 
more than “imprudent” or “equivocal.” It is a deliberate 
sin against the Divine law, even though the intimacy never 
transcend the limits of what a lax fashionable public opinion 
calls propriety, 

Kita Lambert had ruined the peace of Sydney Bentley’s 
uousehold as effectually as if she had eloped with the hus- 
band and father, and set the town to ringing with the scan- 
dal the guilty pair had brought down upon two honorable 
families. And those who have marked her course to this 
|)oini, will ao^uiesce in the assertion that wounded vanity 
and womanly pique had more to do with averting this dis 


‘‘fob better, fob woese.’^ S21 

lAter than compassion for the injured wife — far more »ihan 
had virtue or delicacy. 

She spent the evening rather dully for one \vhose greatest 
delight in life was to create and to experience a ‘‘ sensation,’’^ 
Kate^s work-basket stood ready to her hand, and in the in- 
^rvals of conversation her needle was active. She did not 
exert herself to talk, yet her guest had no just occasion to 
complain of her taciturnity. There was little in common 
between them ; and the two minds were so opposite in mould 
and tone, that their range of topics was circumscribed. At 
nine o’clock, Rita excused herself from sitting up later upon 
a plea of a “sleepy headache,” and betook herself to her 
dormitory, where, let us hope, her dreams were more inno- 
cent than the meditations of her waking hours. 

Kate’s hands fell nerveless, her calm features darkened 
convulsively, when her abhorrent companion was gone. She 
was like one who, scared by a vision of tempest or fire, 
awakes to find the imperfect yet horrid fancy exceeded by 
the real danger encompassing her. She had said, “I will 
know all ! ” and now that the extent of that terrible “ all ” 
opened up to her realization, she was stricken with dumb 
paralysis at the revelation. Step by step she forced herself 
to contemplate the truth. Sydney had never loved her as 
he did this fair, false creature, who had stolen treacherously 
into her home. Conscience interposed here, — 

“Whom you invited hither to tempt him to sin — to do 
this wicked wrong against virtue and yourself. If they have 
committed it, are your skirts clear? Are you not, in a 
great and comprehensive sense, your husband’s keeper?” 
The smart of the telling blow moved the numbed spirit lo 
sentiency. 

“ Constancy which cannot withstand the glozing arts of a 
bold, bad woman is not worth having ! ” she uttered, 
audibly. “ From this hour, he is no husband of mine I iU 


m 


^ FOB BETTER, FOB WOBSK^ 

has chosen his path. Let him walk in it. His sin is h}kmi 
his own head — not mine 1 ” 

For three dreary, formal, wretched days, the loUow seem* 
ing of polite intercourse went on between the alienated pair. 
They sat at the same board, and in the presence of the ser 
fan hi talked together upon indifferent subjects, as if the one 
fcorturmg subject were not gnawing in the mind of each. 
Sydney still went through the routine of asking every morn- 
ing if he could serve her in any way, and Kate returned a 
sentence of acknowledgment, accepting or declining his offer. 
He still sent home from the markets the delicacies he knew 
she preferred, and she studied his taste in the preparation of 
her bills of fare. For all else that could have told that they 
were not strangers, or chance fellow-lodgers in the same 
house, each might have been ignorant of the other’s character 
and name. 

The fourth evening, Sydney appeared in the snug sewing- 
room, where Kate now sat habitually from tea imtil bedtime, 
unless there were calls for her below. She looked up in sur- 
prise, not agitation, at the uncommon occurrence of a visit 
from him to her sanctum ; set a chair forward for him, and, 
without resuming her seat, awaited the expression of hia 
wishes with the deferential mien of a housekeeper who at< 
tended upon his master’s commands. 

You will oblige me by sitting down,” he said; I pre- 
fer to stand. I shall not detain you many minutes.” 

She bowed slightly and obeyed. 

He took up his position upon the opposite side of her 
work -table, resting the knuckles of his left hand hard upon 
the top of it. Do not let me interrupt your sewing.” 

Again she complied with his request, setting stitch after 
•titch with clock-work regularity. 

I would not have intruded upon your privacy, hfid thora 
not existed imperative reasons for my seeking this inter 


82 S 


“fob BOTTEJR, rOJB wobse.^ 

riew,” he continued, in the forced, dry tone he had before 
ased. “ I am hero to communicate to you the details of a 
plan which has been agreed upon this day by my father 
and m}*self. You are aware that we are the largest te.a 
importers in this city, and in order to carry on our busi 
^ess successfully, we found it expedient, many years ago, to 
dstablish a branch of our house, forwarding merchants, in 
Shanghai, China. We have reason to suspect gross mis- 
management on the part of our agents there. It is thought 
best that one of the firm should sail immediately to investi- 
gate these disorders and rectify them, if practicable. I have 
offered to go. The vessel will sail to-morrow at noon. I 
have made arrangements that will, I hope, secure your com- 
fort during n^y absence. My father will provide you with 
whatever funds you wish. I have directed him to pay over 
to you, monthly, the sum we now expend for housekeeping 
and other family expenses, and as much more as you need. 
I beg that you will not hesitate to draw freely upon the 
amount deposited in his care. It is for your use alone; 
subject only to your order. One of the clerks from our 
oflice, a steady, trusty fellow, will occupy a room in this 
house at night, that you may not feel yourself unprotected 
in the e> ent of alarm from sickness or any otl" 5r cause. I 
hope, moreover, that you will invite some lady, a relative or 
friend, whomsoever you like, to live with you.” 

The cold sweat was pressed in great globules through 
ivery pore of Kate’s body ; her fingers were like frozen clay, 
nit they kept up their mechanical inotion, and the stitches 
tiiey fashioned were still minute and even, although the face 
bent over them was livid. 

Sydney cleared his throat before recommencing, “ I leave 
with less unwillingness because Lulu is rapidly regaining 
health and strength. I have but one favor to ask of you. 
You uiay refuse it if vou consider it unreasonable, and 1 


824 ‘‘foe IJEI’TEB, FOE WCBSE.^ 

shall not murmur. Let me hear, now and then, of her 
You can send me a few lines under your o^vn hand; or il 
fhis will be an imposition upon your time, a message in 
my father’s letters, telling me that you are both well, will 
answer the same purpose.” 

A dead silence. In the pulseless stillness of the room 
could be heard the hiss of the taut silk, as it was dravro 
through the fabric in the wife’s hand, the faint buzz of the 
gas-light overhead. 

The dry, strained voice took up the word again: “ If 
there is anything else which you would like to have attended 
to before my departure, you will greatly oblige me by men- 
tioning it now. My preparations have been made in such 
haste, it is very possible that I may have omitted something 
of importance. It is my sincere wish to leave nothing un- 
done that could contribute to your welfare and happiness.” 
He stopped short, arrested by a change in the aspect of the 
figure opj)osite, a quiver, like the tremor of a tree before the 
breaking of a storm ; a visible variation in the shuttle-like 
motion of the hand; a lower droop of the head. He 
thought her impulse had been to interrupt him by some cor- 
rection or suggestion. The movement, slight, scarcely dis- 
cernible save by eyes sharpened, as were his, by love and 
suffering, seemed to him to signify dissent, to negative his 
closing words. 

If the face had not been so studiously averted, he would 
havt^ seen a singular smile wring the lips — a desolate win- 
try contortion, more foreign to joyousness than weeping 
would have been. The mouth moved too, in syllabic utter- 
ance, but the whisper was inaudible. The word formed yy 
the stirred muscles was the one he had just used. 

“ Happiness Then she gathered up her forces and va« 
mistress of herself once more. “Thank you! I have no 
amendments to suggest. I have no doubt that the airan^fe- 


825 


" FOR BETTER, FCR WORSE ” 

agents you have already made will be altogether satisfactory. 
How loQg shall you probably be absent? ” 

Lost he should imagine that she felt any personal anx* 
ioty in his reply, she looked up and showed him features 
pale but still — stillness that was tranquillity itself com- 
pared with the disquiet of those that met her view. 

There were beads of agony upon his forehead; a cadaver 
ous hue had supplanted his habitually clear complexion; 
his eyes were hollow ah^ large, and the hand he raised 
instinctively to hide the twitching mouth shook as with ar 
ague. He was suffering dreadfully. Kate could not disbe 
lieve this; but had he not deserved it all? Was ho not the 
destroyer of her happiness — a traitor, Uai*, and hypocrite? 
She set these counts prominently in order before her mind, 
and her courage augmented in the review. 

That is altogether uncertain.” 

Excuse me. I should not have asked the question.” 

‘‘ You had a perfect right to do it. If I knew anything 
about it myself, I would not hesitate to reply decidedly as 
to the length of my stay.” 

Kate picked up her needle and took a dozen careful 
stitches. "1 hope you will have a comfortable voyage. It 
is unfortunate that you should be obliged to sail in win- 
ter.” 

Sydney caught at the shadowy objection. ‘^Do you dis- 
approve of this step? Does it seem to you precipitate? 
If you think it ill-advised, I can reconsider the matter.” 

‘‘By no means. I approve of the scheme so far as I 
ipomprehend it. You could not wait until spring, since, as 
you have said, your presence is required in the foreign 
house. What can I do towards getting you ready ? Whai 
shall I pack ? ” 

“Nothing. You are very kind, but I will not tioublt 
you. I have put up all that I am likely to need.” 

38 


326 


“POB BETTE®, FOB WOESB.” 

Kate went on with the work she had offered to laj 
aside. Her manner said plainly that she regarded the con 
ference closed. 

Sydney lingered. He had laid hold of the tall back of 
an antique chair, and the fingers seemed to be one with the 
carved wood, so tight was their clutch. 

‘‘One word!” His tone was less firm and more husky. 
“ I cannot leave you without attempting to qualify the im- 
pression made upon your mind by the scene you witnessed 
accidentally last Friday night.” 

If he had expected to see her wince at the allusion, he 
was mistaken. She was entirely prepared for what followed 
the falter in voice and bearing. 

“ And I wish to confirm your opinion that my intrusion 
was accidental,” she answered, unmoved. “ I did not know 
there was any one in the parlor when I pushed back the 
doors.” 

Sydney put aside this needless explanation without note. 
“ I ha /e been culpable enough, heaven knows ! have sinned 
too deeply, in some respects, to hope for your pardon. But, 
in thi'i one instance, I was less in fault than appearances 
warranted you in believing. You saw the worst. If you 
had not lost faith in me before, I might be able to clear my- 
self Irom this new and most injurious suspicion. I can 
only declare — upon the word of a man who feels that this 
may be the last and only opportunity ever granted him for 
setting himself right in the estimation of one whom he 
hon(»rs and respects more than all the world beside — that, 
&*om the hour in which I first knew you, no one else has 
ever disputed your place in my heart. In spirit and in 
letter I have been true to you. I do not expect you to 
Cfi^dit this wholly now. Your confidence in me has been 
too rudely shaken to allow this. But something within me 
tells me that the time may come when i i will comfort you te 


827 


“for better, for worse.” 

remember -what I have just said; when you will do my 
atfection for you tardy justice — but it will be justice, I 
should be content to wait — only time passes so slowly!” 

He was forgetting himself, and he paused to collect his 
■senses. His next sentence sounded both timid and formal, 
i t might have been the effect of embarrassment induced by 
tiis wife’s freezing silence. Kate believed it the restraint 
put upon speech by conscious guilt. 

‘^iNo other woman has ever heard from me a syllable do- 
noting disloyalty to you.” 

Her eyes flashed scornfully. There was no longer any 
flutter in her demeanor. She sat haughtily erect, her eyes 
bent upon her everlasting stitching, the glitteiing needle 
and its whip of crimson silk darting in and out of Lulu’s 
Cashmere cloak. The mother was forever at work for her 
idol. 

Will you not promise me to recollect this when T am 
gone, Kate ? ” 

The cry of anguish drew forth the late reply: ^‘Why 
should I, Sydney? I am not angry with you or with her! 
I learned nothing that night. The shock was not what you 
suppose it to have been. I knew all before ; knew that she 
was an earlier love than I, and that her old supremacy was 
re-established. I do believe you would have been faithful 
to me if you could. But it was not in your nature. With 
you, the affections are stronger than principle. It is often 
io. Women are very artful, and men — most men — are 
7ery weak. Let it pass ! No good can come of raking the 
Ore into a flercer glow. If we would part friends, — and 
there is no reason why we should not, — it is unwise and 
unkind to refer to this subject. A volume of protestations 
to the coni rary would not convince me that I am in error. 
You are acting prudently — most judiciously —in quitting 
the country for a few months, or years^ as the sh?^ 


^8 FOB BETl’ER, FOR WORSE.*’ 

requiic. While I live, and our outward relations remaia 
unchanged, you can never be more to her than you are now. 
The width of half the globe cannot put us — you and me— 
further apart than we already are in heart and in interests. 
A prolonged absence is best for us both, and if you will 
make it long enough, it is the surest means for the attain- 
ment of a desirable end.” 

He made an impetuous step toward her. ‘‘Kate! Can 
it be my wife who so coolly decrees our separation ! who 
designates the step by which a divorce is to be attained I 
A divorce! Think of it! For us, who once loved one 
another so well ! ” 

Once ! ” with the dreary gleam that had broken up the 
dead calm of her features awhile before. “Once is not 
now ! It is the initial step that counts in the dissolution of 
the marriage tie, as in everything else in this world. That 
step T did not take ! ” 

This, their last private interview, ended there. The 
house was in a bustle all the next forenoon. Mrs. Bentley, 
Mrs. Bisley, Eliza, and Anna, were there to assist in getting 
the voyager ready, and finding his one trunk packed and 
strapped, and that he had himself gone down town to settle 
a few parting matters with his father, the four disconsolate 
relatives sat themselves down to “keep up poor Kate’s 
spirits” by keeping their own down to the lowest possible 
ebb Paler than any ghost, every nerve in her head ting- 
iing with keenest pain, she whom they meant to console 
was the most composed member of the family party. 

“Just as I always said!” remarked Eliza, when her 
mother, after the wont of mild elderly ladies, whose tears lie 
very near the surface, and whose hearts are so soft that the 
wounds inflicted by unkind fortune close up vdth comfort- 
able rapidity, complimented her daughter-in-law upon her 
^amazing strength of mind,” and “command of her feelings,* 


329 


**FOR BETTER, F( R WORSE.^^ 

and wished snivellingly, that she was mistress of her nmo* 
tions, but this parting would kill her — she knew it wo aid ! 
she had a presentiment that she was not long for this 
world; but she had hoped to die in her nest, with all 
her children about her; and to think that Sydney, the 
only boy she had left to her old age, and the best son a 
mother ever had, should ” — regular break-down and general 
unintelligibility. 

J ust as I always said 1 ” said the acute Eliza. There 
is nothing more deceptive than appearances, particularly 
where newly-married people are concerned. A hot beginning 
is almost sure to liave a cold ending. Kate’s supernatural 
self-command reminds me of the story of the man who said 
he thought his wife so sweet during the honeymoon that he 
wanted to eat her up, and he had been sorry ever since that 
he had not done it ! ” 

Mrs. Bentley tittered through her tears. ‘‘How very 
funny you are, my dear ! She is the best company T know 
Katie, love, when one is depressed. She has such a flow of 
spirits ! ” 

Eliza was not to be diverted from her purpose by sugared 
crumbs of compliment. 

“As I was saying, this excessive billing and cooing for a 
few weeks, invariably subsides into the iciest sort of friendly 
regard when the weeks have grown into years. The devoted 
wife sheds fewer tears over her husband’s departure for 
the world’s end than she once poured forth over liiu 
absenting himself for three hours from the heaven of her 
presence ” 

Kate had learned long since to pay no apparent regard to 
the needles and pins which tumbled from Eliza’s dry pur- 
plish lips as rapidly as did the frogs, spiders, and scorpions, 
from the rosy mouth of the bad little girl in the fairy tale. 
The sharp spinster made so many passes at her nearest and 


330 


^FOR BETTEEj FOR WORSE.^ 

dearest of kia, that it would have been miraculous had shfi 
in every instance, failed to touch a vulnerable point. This 
one went straight home to the sorest spot of Kate’s heart ; 
but her face grew no winter, — that could hardly liave been, 
— and she could smile without essaying a reply. Eliza did 
aot relish replies as a general thing. She preferred to feel 
that she had routed her enemy tempore^ foot and horse*, 
demolished what she had struck, root and branch. A nota 
ble exception to the rest of her sex, she was never satisfied 
without having the last word. Grant her that, and she was 
benignant — for her. 

Noon drew on apace, and .Sydney came in, with his father, 
to say that he must be gone within the hour. His wife had 
provided a bountiful luncheon, and the family discussed it 
in full conclave. Mrs. E-isley, only, of the ladies, noticed 
that Kate could not eat a mouthful, an inability she covered 
cleverly by attention to the wants of others. Sydney’s cor- 
responding lack of appetite was commented upon pityingly 
by his mother, lovingly by Anna, and sourly by Eliza. 

‘‘Are you sea-sick in anticipation?” asked the lattei. 
“ If I were in your place, I would reserve my display of 
lentimental qualmishness until it was beyond my power to 
get a civilized meal. You can pine then at your leisure, 
without losing such oysters and quails as these. And the 
sheep’s eyes you have been stealing at Kate ever since you 
sat down are all thrown away. She has been telling us how 
resigned she is to your departure. You never did a more 
sensible thing, if we are to believe her. Kiva Lambert, now, 
would return your lovesick glances with compound interest, 
but your wife is made of different metal.” 

“ 1 am thankful that she is ! ” spoke up Sydney, boldly 
and feiventij 

Eliza peaked her eyebrows fretfully. “ Heyday ! what has 
ha])pened ? Have you quarrelled with la belle Margarita, oi 


331 


•*FOB BETTER, FOR WORSE.” 

is that a bit of flummery intended for Kate’s benefit, a sweet* 
meat which she can roll under her tongue while you are 
away? You wouldn’t derive much consolation from the 
process, let me tell you, Mrs. Sydney Bentley, if you had 
met them as I did, one moonlight night a fortnight ago, 
TO Iking arm 'in-arm, he staring down into her eyes, she 
staring up into his, like a couple of enamoured calves ! ” 

I do not i ecollect it, ” "began her brother. 

Of course, not ! I didn’t expect you to see so insignifi- 
cant a persoLage as I am. But I saw you ! Moreover, I 
passed so clos j to you that I could hear every word you said, 
I heard you talking about an Hincongenial union,’ and 
she sighed d< iefully in reply. It is just as well that he should 
go to the ar apodes, Kate. I quite agree with you on that 
head. The whole town is ringing with talk about his re- 
vived flirtation, and people wonder how you can stand by 
and sufier i.^.” 

‘‘It is high time you were off, my boy!” said old Mr. 
Bentley, hastily. 

He dared not incense the little black dog by rebuking his 
owner’s slanderous tongue, but he noted the crimson that 
dyed Sydney’s brow, and the spark that shot up wrathfully 
in his eyf ‘ at this outrageously indelicate and unfeeling speech, 
and he brought up the conversation “ all standing.” Not 
a muscle of Kate’s countenance quivered at the new attack. 
Eliza could divulge nothing which could affect her ; for the 
wife knew more than the sister’s most uncharitable imagin- 
ings had ever pictured. What difference could her silly 
rcvelalions make in a destiny already black as midnight ? 

The leave-takings were quickly over. Mother and sisters 
w^ept profusely, Mrs. Bentley and Eliza, who weio to accom- 
pany Sydney to the wharf, shedding as many tears as the 
oHiers. Lulu cried loudly, clinging to her father’s neck, and 
protesting that he should not go. Old Mr. Bentfijy blew his 


332 


^^FOB BETTEB, FOR WOBS®.^ 

nose repeatedly, and the two servant girls bvjried their faces 
in their aprons after saying farewell” to their kind master. 
Kate, dry-eyed and nnhysterical, moved about the group, 
putting on Mrs. Bentley’s cloak; restoring the cane hei 
father-in-law had let fall ; tightening the buckles that bound 
Sydney’s travelling-shawl, life-preserver, and telescope into 
a compact bundle, and herself coaxing Lulu from the arms 
that could not voluntarily release her. 

Take her up-stairs, Bessie ! Mamma will come to you 
pretty soon now, love,” she said to nurse and child, as she 
opened the door to allow the former to make her exit with 
lier shrieking charge. 

Turning back toward the centre of the room, she was met by 
her husband. He caught her in an embrace that threatened 
suffocation, straining her to his breast so closely that the 
mighty throbbings of his heart shook her from head to foot, 
and kissed her wildly once, twice, thrice, with an irrepres- 
sible sob, conveying to her ear alone his anguished farewell. 

“ My wife ! my wife !” 

When he let her go he looked at and spoke to no one 
else, but rushed from the room and house. Mrs. Risley and 
Anna followed him to the door. They had not thought it 
singular that Kate had declined going down to the vessel, 
although Eliza had exclaimed at it as unnatural and unwife 
like, and Mrs. Bentley had plaintively wondered that she 
did not want to see the last of her husband.” Being women 
of relQnement, no less than warmth of feeling, the younger 
‘sisters sympathized with the shrinking from a public display 
of grief — the disinclination to make a spectacle of herself 
and her emotions for the edification of the gaping crowd 
upon the quay, which they imagined infiuenced the wile’s 
refusal to be one of the carriage-party. 

Tbey were surprised, and disposed tc be indignant, how- 
ever, th rt she did not appear in the hall or at the window ai 


333 


“fob betteb, fob wobse,’^ 

ihe carriage di-ove off, and sorry for Sydney when his Iasi 
sad, wistful look at his home was not repaid by another 
glimpse of her, by a loving nod or a kiss flung after him 
that he might thenceforward connect with that pai*ting 
view. They exchanged meaning glances respecting the omis- 
tdon as they lost sight of the vehicle at the corner, looks of 
disapprobation and dawning resentment at the slight offered 
their beloved brother, that gave way to serious concern and 
tenderesx; pity when they returned to the parlor and foiuid 
Slate in a dead faint upon the floor. She had not stirred an 
inch from the spot where her husband had left her. 


m 


BETTEE. FOB WOBBIL^ 


CHAPTER VIL 

8)tl)NEY sailed for the Orient in Dec(/mber, and Mrs. 
Sydney Bentley was as much lost to society for the rest of 
the winter and throughout the spring as if she had been hw 
compagnon du voyage^ or had entered a convent to secure 
more complete seclusion from the world. 

So said her gay acquaintances whenever the absence of the 
husband and wife from their accustomed haunts was spoken 
of. There were several reasons for this retirement other 
than that popularly received the main motive of Kate’s 
non-appearance abroad ; to wit, her t*egret at her handsome 
partner’s departure, and disinclination to visit alone the 
scenes they had formerly enjoyed in company. First, these 
had really lost all attraction to her care-laden spirit. Next, 
Eliza’s words touching Sydney’s entanglement with Rita 
Lambert were ever with her, — The town is ringing with, 
talk about the revived flirtation.” She would not afibrd ad- 
ditional food for scandal — pander to the vitiated appetite 
already busy with the story of her husband’s infidelity and 
his indifierence to her neglected condition. Besides, her 
health was anything but firm, and there was no prospect of 
immediate improvement. Time and patience would bring 
relief in due season, but time was weary-footed and lagged 
on his toilsome route, and she had not tutored her nature to 
patient endurance. 

Mrs. Risley called one afternoon, late in March, to invite 
her to ride with her, and vras met at the door by the mtelli 


m 


BBlTEE, FOB WOBSKL*^ 

gence that Mrs. Bentley had not left her room that day, ana 
was, the servant believed, more unwell than usual. The 
kind-hearted little woman had a sincere regard for her sister- 
in-law, and it was genuine solicitude that sobered her bright 
countenance as she ran up-stairs and presented herself in the 
Invalid’s chamber. 

Kate lay upon the lounge by the window, wrapped in a 
white dressing-gown, and gazing with mournful listlessness 
up at the spring clouds, soft and fleecy, with promise of 
warm rains and balmy airs. She started and colored faintly, 
as if interrupted in forbidden reverie, when Mrs. Bisley 
tapped at the half-open door. 

Ah, Mildred ! is it you ? I was thinking of you just 
now, and hoping you were enjoying this lovely weather. It 
is unseasonable, though, and affects me unpleasantly. I lack 
the energy to move a finger.” 

The confession, so unlike the lately active and diligent 
Kate, struck painfully upon Mrs. Eisley’s ear. Few things 
were more to be dreaded for one in the speaker’s condition 
than this apathetic disposition of body and mind. 

I have come to sue for the pleasure of your company in 
my afternoon ride,” she said, encouragingly. ‘*It is as 
mild as June out-of-doors, and everybody is abroad, walk- 
iug or driving. If youean once reach the carriage you will 
feel better.” 

Kate shook her head. I have had a wearing headache 
all day. I am seldom entirely free from headache, now. I 
think it is because I rest so badly at night. And when tie 
pain leaves me I am fit for nothing but to lie still and be 
thankful, in a duU, stupid way, that it has gone at last. 
I could not bear the motion of a carriage ; but I am none 
the less obliged to you for your thoughtfulness of my com- 
fort.” 

Headache and sleeplessness 1 ” repeated Mrs. Bisley, aib 


tte6 BETIEB, FOR WOBSK^ 

ing down by tbe sofe., and taking in hers the diy, tliin fin 
gers lying upon the pillow. must look to tlds. Have 

you seen the doctor !” 

Kate made an impatient gesture. The doctor ! What 
^n he do ? What does he, or any other man know about a 
froman except what she chooses to tell him ? 1 can manage 

myself better than he can instruct me how to do. There ii 
nothing the matter that will not come all right, by and by ; 
nothing which I cannot bear well enough generally. Only, 
to-day, I am weak and nervous, and having been, for a won- 
der, a little lonely, I was so foolish as to run on with a 
string of complaints to you, like a spoiled baby. I suppose 
I was betrayed into the folly because you are the only friend 
who has blessed my sight for twenty-four hours.” 

The affected levity did not deceive the auditor. ‘‘ You 
are too much alone ! ” she remonstrated. You should 
have accepted Anna’s offer, and let her spend at least half 
her time with you. This was Sydney’s wish, papa says. 
He dreaded your being lonely more than anything else. He 
enjoined upon papa the duty of seeing you himself every day, 
— of sending mamma and the girls in as often. Papa and 
mamma are out of town, you know ? ” 

‘‘ Yes. Anna begged leave to stay with me while they 
were away, but Eliza seemed to think this hardly fair ; and, 
after all, I am fond of a quiet life.” 

It is not good for you, just now ! ” persisted the elder 
matron. “ And Sydney will be displeased when he heara 
that his parting request has been disregarded. We did 
not understand, at the time, why he laid such stress upon 
it.” 

Kate turned away her head suddenly, while a burning 
flush suffused her neck and the cheek visible to her oom- 
panion. 

did not know — he had no idea that there was any 


337 


•‘fob better, fob woesb.’'’ 

that it would be inexpedient for i le to s|)end all my time 
in solitude,” she said, with hurried incoherence. “ Ho siis- 
|»f^cted nothing then. Ho knows nothing now.” 

Is it possible ? My dear sister, you amaze me ! Yet 1 
i HQ gi*eatly relieved, too ! I have thought it very strange 
quite unlike his usual loving consideration for your w el 
le and wishes, liis watchful care of your health, that Lt 
>nould leave you at this time for an absence of such length. 
Anna and I have talked the matter over several times, and 
I own to you that we have blamed him severely.” 

‘‘You were unjust,” returned Kate, but not with the 
eager haste generally manifested by an affectionate wife in 
aefending her husband from unmerited censure. “ I knew 
tliat he must go ; that it would be wrong for him to remain 
here a day longer, and I would not throw a straw in the 
path of his duty.” 

“ It is you who were unjust there — cruel to yourself and 
CO him ! ” said the sister-in-law, in gentle chiding. “ Poor 
fellow ! his heart will smite him grievously when he learns 
now you have needed him. You may talk to me all day 
about your fortitude and independence of others’ help, and 
you cannot convince me that you are are not suffering 
hourly for the want of his care and petting. Such a good 
nurse as he is, too i Your conduct was very brave, very 
heroic and unselfish, but extremely foreign to the practice 
of most wives. If we haven’t a right to be first in our hus- 
bands’ thoughts, haven’t the best claim to their time and 
attention, where is the use of being married? Shanghai 
might go to J ericho, and all the tea in China and America 
to the bottom of the Ped Sea, before I would let my Lewis 
leave me at such a time,” continued the little lady, waxing 
vehement. “ I don’t believe there is another woman in the 
city capable of making the sacrifice you have dcme.” 

None of us can tell what we are capable of bearing and 


888 “fob HBrrrBB, fob woesk.’’ 

doing until our day of trial comes,’’ answered Kate, lacon 
ically. 

Without divining the full import of this truism, Mrs. Ris* 
ley was deterred by her manner from pursuing the subject 
that had given rise to the observation. The succeeding silence 
liad lasted long enough to be awkward, when Anna’s step 
was heard upon the staircase, and she brought her fresh 
face and pretty spring attire into the room. 

The greatest piece of news 1 ” she exclaimed, scarcely 
waiting to kiss her sisters. Rita Lambert is going to be 
married ! ” 

Bah ! I have heard that a dozen times before I ’’ said 
Mrs. Risley, incredulously. 

But there is no mistake this time 1 She has commenced 
the preparations for her troussecm. She showed me her list. 
Most of the dresses are to be bought in Paris, and as to 
lingerie and laces, they throw my modest outfit into the 
shade. She vows that she must and will have a velvet cloak 
and a camel’s hair shawl. Her brother-in-law has half pro- 
mised to give her the shawl, and she asked me if Sydney 
wouldn’t select it while he is in China. She has seen some 
lovely ones that were purchased in China, she says. So 
I am to write to Syd forthwith and broach the important 
matter ; for although she is going to work in such a hurry, 
the afiair is not to come off until September. Still, as Rita 
says, one needs six months, at the very least, in which to 
get decently ready. I declare, she is the most fortunate girl 
alive 1 She has scores of rich relations who are crazy to 
marry her off, and they have promised her all sorts of hand 
Rome presents. One old great-aunt is to have her diamonl. 
bracelet broken up and the stones reset in a brooch and ea? 
rings for her favorite niece, and an imcle, a wealthy d‘ ^ 
goods merchant, is to give her a point-lace sha wl, and ir 
aunt the wedding veil ” — 


339 


“fob better, fob wobsb.^ 

“ And another the husband ? ’’ queried Mrs. Eisi ey, laugh- 
ing at tills breathless rigmarole. Or has this petty appen- 
dage to all the bridal magnificence been overloooked 
al together in the family arrangements ? ” 

That is just what he is ! a petty appendage to the wed 
ling finery ! ” cried Anna, scornfully. wouldn’t many 
aim if he were ten times as rich — and he is a reputed 
miilionnaire. He was once a member of Congress, too, and 
Rita hopes he may secure a foreign appointment some day, 
when she can queen it as Madame I’Ambassadrice among 
kings and nobles. You should hear her run on ! ” 

It is enough to hear you I She didn’t mention his name, 
then ! ” 

Of course she did, dozens of times ! Haven’t I told 
you ? She engaged herself, last week, to Mr. Pepper, the 
nabob, who has lately bought Oakland, the palatial country 
seat up the river.” 

‘‘ He is old enough to be her father ; a withered yellow 
little man, who looks like a Jew, with his hooked nose, big 
diamond studs, and twinkling black eyes ! ” was Mrs. Risley’s 
amazed criticism upon the fair Rita’s chosen one. ‘‘ A girl 
who has had such excellent offers ! I am ashamed of her and 
my sex ! fairly disgusted with such mercenary conduct ! ” 

‘‘ She doesn’t pretend to be dying with love for him,” 
laughed Anna. She means, according to her statement, 
to secure the best portion of this world’s goods she can for 
lierself. In her earlier and romantic days, she hoj)ed to find 
money, beauty, and talent united ; but a long and dib’gent 
search for these hidden treasures has convinced her that the 
gods bestowed these gifts as solitaires — never set them in 
clusters. You can guess how she rattles this nonsense off,” 
She is a heartless, scheming coquette, who has sold her- 
self for money,” observed the married sister, energetically. 
“I am glad you see through her plausible mask at 


340 


“fob better, for worse.” 

Anna I I have never liked her since she angled so boldly fof 
Sydney, that first summer she spent with us at Hawksnest 
1 chanced to overhear a portion of her conversation with 
him upon the piazza, the evening before he left for Saratoga. 
You remember how surprised the rest of the family were 
when he announced his resolution to set off immediately foi 
the Springs. The girl positively shocked me by her daring 
wiles. She almost threw herself at his feet, yet she looked 
so b3autiful and talked so artfully that most men would have 
fallen headlong into her snare without seeing it. Sydney 
heard ail her sentimentalisms, and answered all her cunning 
questions, as a married man of fifty might have replied to a 
child of twelve, whose pertness amused him. But when she 
had gone up stairs, he came to my room and told me what 
had happened. ‘ This is getting to be rather too strong for 
my taste,’ he said. ‘ I don’t want to marry the girl. If I 
stay here I must either flirt with, or be rude to her. 1 shall 
take refuge in flight. She is young and inexperienced. 
She will learn wisdom in time.’ ” 

‘‘ Why have you never told me this before ? ” asked Kate 
sharply. 

Both sisters started at the tone. “ For two reasons, my 
dear,” rejoined Mrs Eisley. “ I did not like to prejudice 
you unnecessarily against Eita; she is a spoiled beauty, 
whose mother died when she was a child. It seemed imkind 
to say anything about what I was convinced was her early 
dh*appointmenb in husband-hunting, so long as she remained 
siiigle or disengaged. Besides these scruples, I never doubted 
but that Sydney had enlightened you as to the character 
of the ‘flirtation’ to which Eliza had so often referred. 
Women of Rita’s stamp never die with unrequited affection. 
They sear over the wound, which is offcener in rheir self* 
esteem than in their hearts, and ” — 

“ Marry Mr. Peppers, with diamond pins as big as carV 


841 


TOit BBTTEK, FOB WORSE.” 

wheels and purses deep as wells I ” finished A niia Eft 
isn’t as tall &p she is by half a head ! How could she ever 
look at him a second time, if she had once fancied herself 
in lovo with our noble, splendid, gallant Syd ! ” 

When the sisters had gone, Kate lay still in the twilight 
tjiinking over the story she had heard. Once in his life, theiiy 
it appeared that her husband had resisted the enchantments 
that overthrew liis defences at a later day. Wii£ respect- 
to that earlier entanglement, she had wronged him. He hfu\ 
spoken truly in protesting that, up to his marriage, he ha<l 
never known a sentiment of afiection for the syren that had 
wrought his subsequent ruin. Could there be, also, a grain 
of truth in the solemn asseveration he had pressed homo 
upon her memory, in the persuasion ^ that the time might 
eome when it would comfort her to remember it ” ? 

It had not come yeti She could defend him, to her 
lister, from the charge of neglecting to provide aright for her 
happiness and well-being during the present trying season of 
her life ; might keep up before his relatives and the world 
a brave and comely show of wifely duty, but at the secret 
tribunal of her heart he stood a condemned criminal still, 
recommended to mercy by naught save the occasional weak 
wail of the woman’s nature, that yet clung with tenacity 
which Eeason called infatuation, to the mixed clay and metal 
that made up the idol whe had formerly worshipped with 
spirit, will, and reason. A stern look — a fierce despair — 
came over her countenance now as she conned, for the thou- 
sandth time, the history of her married life. 

‘‘ He has robbed me of everything ! He took me from my 
father’s house — from my free, happy, hopeful girl-life, with « 
its atmosphere of protecting love and tenderness; he has 
tom away the brighter existen'ie I had pictured to myself as 
growing up beneath his promised love and care. Stripped 
of hope and love, as w ell as joy, I am nothing better tliao % 




‘‘PtE BETTER, FOR WORSE,’’ 

piece of dead driftwood at tlie mersy of every wave. I gav« 
him my all, and he cast it from him. Oh, my lc»st love-^ 
my beautiful, beautiful dreams ! my wasted life ! ” 

Ibie poor, thin fingers could not keep back the tears, and 
her growing weakness rendered her less able, each day, to 
maintain a semblance of calm resignation to Fate. She was 
not the strong, self-contained woman she had been when her 
husbard pleaded vainly for her pardon. She could not have 
looked into his eyes, to-day, and told him of her lost faith 
in his truth. She trembled and wept in the extremity of her 
desolation, as the feeblest girl might have done. Had she 
asked herself the cause of this distress, she 'would have an- 
swered in the same spirit as did the consumptive girl whose 
‘‘ JTe me regrett^'^ is, if one of the most egotistical, one of 
the most pathetic plaints upon record. A wasted life ! a 
lost love ! departed faith. Grant the truth of these three 
bereavements, and what has earth left in her gift that is 
worth a glance of the depressed eye, the lifting of the 
nerveless hand ? Only Duty, and Duty is a grim substitute 
for Love and Hope. 

He will come home when he hears that she is married ! 
she said, in the lessening throes of the paroxysm. It 'will 
be several months before that happens, and then I shall not 
be here ! ” 

April passed. May came and went, aad the long, hot Juno 
days brought to the public mind alluring pictures of country 
houses and rural, or seaside watering-places. The Bentleys 
would not leave town for the shades and mountain airs of 
Hawksnest so early as usual, this year. One and all, they 
were uneasy about Kate. Her wan face, sunken eyes, 
creeping step, and fluttering breath awoke the serious 
apprehensions in view of the approaching draught upon her 
strength. She surveyed the prospect that alarmed them 
with apparent calmness. Once, she had talked openly tc 


343 


"rOit BETTER, FOR WORSE.^^ 

Mf». llisiey of her belief that she 'would not survive hei 
sickness. 

I have few worldly preparations to make for tie change,’* 
she said. ‘‘It is seldom that a wife and mother can be m 
easily spared My death will not be a very sad inconveni* 
ence to any one. You will take Lulu and care for her aa 
you do for your own children. You have no little girl. 1 
give you mine. If her father should — I mean when he 
shall marry again, I think he will respect my wish, and let 
her stay with you. I do not want her to be subject to a step- 
mother’s whims. Your rule 'will be more mild than mine. 
Sydney always said that I was too rigid; that he was, at 
times, afraid of me. It would have hurt me to see her 
learn to shrink from her mother.” 

Mrs. Risley was weeping, while the speaker did not shed 
a tear. 

“And your husband?” interrogated the former. “If 
your presentiment should prove to be correct, — which I 
hope and pray may not come to pass, — what shall I say to 
my poor, distracted brother ?” 

“He vnll suffer for a little while!” rejoined Kate, smil- 
ing sadly. “ He has a tender heart, poor fellow ! But he 
will need no message from me other than a repetition of 
what I have often said to you, — that I never blamed him 
for going when, he did. It was the only thing for him to 
do in the circumstances. His absence has spared him 
sorrow and anxiety, and he was not made to cope with 
trouble.” 

About a week after this conversation, as Kate was alone, 
one afternoon, in her up-stairs sitting-room, the maid — a 
new servant — brought up word that a lady wished to see 
her. She had given no name, and would not detain Mrs. 
Bentley ten minutes, but she must see her upon important 


344 


BETrERj FOR WOBSE.^ 

business. Languidly wondering at this message, Kato of 
dered hei to be shown up. 

A. rusli of blood bathed her white cheeks as Rita Lam- 
bert, insolently gorgeous in the ripeness of her beauty^ 
railed in. With her blooming complexion, full, laughing 
uyes, and rich round tones, she seemed to absorb what little 
of vital force yet remained in the invalid’s trembling frame. 
She could just incline her head in reply to the gracious 
salutations poured forth by the intruder, and point to a 
chair more distant from hers than Rita had evidently de- 
signed to take. 

‘‘As you please !” said Mr. Pepper’s affianced, swimming 
off to the position designated. “ I beg your pardon for for- 
getting, until this moment, that you dislike the perfume of 
tuberoses. I never use any other extract. It suits my 
style so well, and I like to identify myself with one flower 
— to make its essence a part of my individuality. Violets, 
verbenas, and heKotropes, are well enough in their way, but 
they are missish — only fit for school-girls. How are you 
to day ? ” 

“ I am very far from well,” rejoined Kate. “ I must ask 
you to state your errand as briefly as possible. I cannot 
endure much fatigue.” 

“ Nor I spare much time ! I am to ride with Mr. Pepper 
at half past six. I shall leave town to-morrow to return no 
more as Miss Lambert. I am to be married in September, 
from the country house of my brother-in-law, Mr. Smythe. 
You will receive cards ; and let me assure you, at this early 
date, that Mr. Pepper and myself will account ourselvef 
highly honored by your presence on the happy occasion.” 

Again Kate bowed, silently. 

Rita opened a white fan, from which fresh waves of hm 
jfavorite perfume flowed towards Kate with each sway of 
the snowy plumes. “ I have been very busy all day,” pur 


845 


*^FOB BETTEK, FOR WORSE.” 

guod the visitor, not hurrying herself in the slightest degree 
“ Set cling accounts is generally esteemed an mn)leasant task, 
but f quite enjoy it. It is such a comfortable feeling to be 
assured that one leaves clean scores behind her everywhere. 
Amd that is why I am here. You have a trifling account 
against me of six months’ standing. You have been labor- 
ing under the impression ever since the last night 1 sfien^ 
here that I had won your husband from his allegiance to 
you — in plainer English, that he had been making love to 
me. You are mistaken. I did try my hand on him, I con- 
fess. It is a habit I have. I never see a man who is 
tolerably attractive, that the desire does not seize me to 
make him acknowledge my attractions. I enjoy admira 
tion. So do all other women, but most of them are 
ashamed to own it. I tried hard to persuade your hand- 
some, brilliant husband to find me also handsome and fasci- 
nating. I amused him, and he rather liked me. Liked to 
talk and sing with me, and look at me as he did at other 
good pictures. I did not fancy you. I do not like you 
now, but I mean to set you an example of magnanimity. 
When I fell to crying on that memorable night, my head 
somehow dropped against Sydney’s shoulder. There wus 
no harm in that. We had known each o-:her for years and 
years. Maybe he patted it — I really forget whether he 
did or not; but he did not talk love to me, or kiss me. 
He was as cold as any great-uncle, until he spied yon 
standing in the library-door, and then he flew into a tower- 
ing rage at me, charging me with having ruined him, calling 
you an angel, and all such extravagances. This is the 
naked truth. I ought to have undeceived you then, I sup- 
pose. I did feel shocked when I heard that he was going 
off in a hurry, to the other side of the globe, for I smmised 
that it was because you wouldn’t live with him after what 
had happened. But it costs one’s pride something to maki 


S46 ‘‘fob betteb, fob wobsb.’’ 

A confession 1 tke this. I am a fool io do it now ; but Elia 
said you were sick and low-spiritea, and I thought perhaps 
my amusing story might enliven you somewhat.” 

“ You mean that you heard I was a dying woman, ana 
'.he thought of my ill-will made you Tincomfortablo,” an* 
i^rered Kate, in a stronger voice than that in which she had 
iM^fore spoken. “ I am glad to find that your conscience is 
not altogether callous. You are about to marry. I am not 
surprised that you feared to enter your new estate with 
this unconfessed sin resting upon your soul. I, too, will be 
candid. Grievous as was your guilt, by your own showing, 
you did not murder my happiness. If your feeble hand 
could have crushed it, it would not have been worth the 
trouble of preserving. Mr. Bentley, long ago, informed me 
what was the real nature of your connection with him. I 
am conversant with all the facts of the case. I hope the 
mutual confidence of Mr. Pepper and yourself will be strong 
enough to defy the attacks of suspicion and jealousy ; that 
the efiforts of your rivals to dethrone you in his aflfections 
will be as ineffectual as yours have proved in this instance.” 

She had sat erect in her chair to deliver this reply, and 
now dragged herself up to her full height, upon Pita’s rising 
to go. 

“I might have spared myself the time and pains spent 
upon this business, it seems,” said her visitor, still saucily, 
although her rosy cheek had put on a deeper tint, and she 
bit her lip before speaking. There is a satisfaction in 
doing right for right’s sake, I have heard good people say. 
I suppose this act will be set down to my account some^ 
where. Good-by. Give my love to Sydney when yon 
write.” 

The cook came in, as the billows of tuberose odor were 
rolling down the stairs. 

“ Poor Peggy Mohun is in the kitchen, mem, in great dim 


m 


^¥0U BBTTTKB, FOE WOBSBU^ 

tress. Her man has been taken oS to jail, and stj baa 
come to ask you the what she’ll do to get him out.” 

P(}g/;y had been Kate’s maid in her girlish days ; had fol 
lowed her to her new home when she married, and herself 
redded, a year later, a good-looking young rascal of an Irish- 
aian, who had kept her in hot water ever since. 

Say that I can see her for five minutes — no more!” 
replied Kate, desperately. I am very tilled already.” 

Peggy carried upon her breast a babe two months old, 
and behind her came her mother, a respectable-looking body, 
with another — a stout boy of fourteen months, in her arms. 
Peggy’s face was stained with tears, and was further dis- 
figured by a large bruise upon the left cheek. The mother 
wore an air of angry discontent. 

‘‘ Well, Peggy,” began her former mistress, what is the 
new trouble?” 

It’s the ould one, mem I ” put in the mother, before the 
sorrowing wife could open her Kps ; and, with characteristic 
MKesian eloquence, she proceeded to unfold the case. Brian 
Mohun — ‘‘ bad luck to liim 1 ” — had been on a froKc ” 
for a week ; had drunk up every penny he had in the world; 
pawned his best clothes and his wife’s besides, and wound 
up his list of misdemeanors by beating the unofiending 
Peggy, until her mother’s screams — not her own — 
brought in a poKceman, who trotted off the truculent 
familias to the nearest station. The next morning Peggy 
was unable to leave her bed, and ignorant of the need of 
her doing so. The mother sKpped out and appeared against 
lier promising son-in-law at the justice’s court, and, aided 
by the poKceman and the doctor who had been caUed in to 
dress Pegg}’’’s wounds, made out so black a case that the 
prisoner was sentenced to thi’ee months’ imprisonment in 
the city jaK. 

Whi)h I never would have give evidence that would 


448 ^FOE BETTEE, FOE WOEBE,^’ 

have hurt a hair of his head, Miss Kate ? ” interposed the 
sobbing Peggy. ‘‘ And I shall take it hard of mother to my 
dying day that she took advantage of his being overtaken^ 
whin she knows there niver breathed a kinder man nor he 
was when he was himself. Nor was it kind to the pcxKr 
childher, the innocents ! Their father will be breaking hie 
heart for the sight of thim for three long months, and whin 
he does come out the disgrace will be on him, and the how 
will he iver hould up his head ag’in — he that used to be so 
proud and bould !” 

The disgrace is not that he has been to jail, Peggy, 
said Mrs. Bentley. “ It is that he was so wicked and cow- 
ardly as to lift his hand against you — a woman and his 
wife.” 

It was the liquor, mem ! ” pleaded the wife, eagerly. 

He wouldn’t hurt a fly, except whin he had taken a glass. 
He was the best husband in the land ! ” 

Jist to hear her ! ” said the angry mother. Sorra a bit 
do6S he care whether she has a bed under or a blanket over 
her, so long as he has his tipple ! But for me, mem, she 
and the bit ones would have starved and froze ” — 

‘‘ Hush, mother, darlint ! ” prayed Peggy, gently and 
sorrowfully. “The poor lad is down now, a—d it looks 
mane to be picking up his faults. It’s not for the likes of 
me to stand by and hear them talked of. For he is me hus- 
band, Miss Kate, and I’ve promised to be thrue to him — 
thrue till death; and it’s like cutting a vein of me heart 
to go ag’inst him. And the baby is the very moral of him, 
mem ! ” turning the tiny creature towards Mrs. Bentley, with 
maternal cunning, not doubting but the resemblance that 
appealed continually to her charity would have its efieci 
upon the lady. 

“I am sorry to seem unkind, Peggy,” was the reply. 
^Bat I honestly think that your husband has ac^ed very 


m 


“for BEITEB, FOR W3RSB.^ 

badly, aud that lie ought to be punished severely. If he loved 
you and your children, he would have conducted himself 
very differently.” 

“ Arrah, Miss Kate ! and it’s the sad thoughts I have 
upon mo lonely bed of nights. I mind the many times I’ve 
oeen thried with him — -and I’ve a timper of me own! and 
A liin he’s come in, a bit the worse for dhrink, or jist whin 
the fit was going off, I’ve been sore-hearted and impatient, 
and spake sharp to him. I’m afeared I’ve dhriv him back 
to his cups wliin I might a-coaxed him away from thim, as 
’twas my right to do. For it’s his wife I am. Miss Kate, 
and it was yourself put the good word into me mouth whin 
I tould you I was maning to marry Brian. ^ It’s a solemn 
thing, Peggy,’ says you. ‘It’s for life you are taking him. 
Through e^'il report and good report,’ says you; ‘for bet- 
ter and for worse ! ’ Don’t thry to turn away me heart 
from him now that the evil report and the worse has come ! ” 

“ I vill do what I can for you ! ” gasped Kate, faintly. 
“ You are a good, brave wife, Peggy ! But please go now. 
I am feeling very sick and weary ! ” 

When the maid, alarmed by the woman’s report, hurried 
up to her mistress’ room, she knocked several times without 
receiving an answer. Then, undoing the latch softly, she 
peeped in. Mrs. Bentley knelt before her easy chair, hot 
face hidden upon her arms, sobbing violently, ejamilating 
brokenly, and, to the girl, unintelligibly. 

“ But I think she was praying for Mr. Bentley,” reported 
the girl, afterwards, to Mrs. Bisley. “ She said ‘ Sydney,^ 
three times over. And in less than half an hour her bell 
lang, and she told me to send for you and the doctor, for 
%Le was cruel sick ! ” 

About midnight Mrs. Bisley received her brother’s son in 
her embrace, and took him out of hearing of the sick-room. 
High fevtr and deliriun had set in before Kate recognised 

80 


S60 


“ FOB BETTER, FOR WORSK.^ 

the existence of her babe by look or caress, and the dangei 
of Buj^ervening convulsions was imminent. Only the hired 
nurse sat by the bedside where Sydney Bentley’s darling was 
battling for her life. Her moans and cries fell upon dull, 
iinsympathizing ears, except when Mrs. Risley and Anna 
i;?ept to the threshold and wept to hear their brother’s name 
repeated in every intonation of love and entreaty. 

On the tenth night she grew more quiet; ceased to toss 
and mutter, and finally lay still, breathing softly as in 
slumber. It was near daylight when she unclosed her eyes. 
The room was in deep shadow, but there was light in the 
next one, and low voices were audible through the open 
door. 

Her life hangs upon a thread ! ” said the family physi- 
cian, mournfully; and a woman answered, She will not last 
through the day, in my opinion ! ” Then they began to 
whisper. 

She was then dying ! She had contemplated this even! 
with philosophical coolness, if not sentimental complacency. 
But by the great terror that fell upon her spirit — the horror 
of loneliness and dread of the judgment to come — she 
knew that she had never understood what death was. She 
strove to put her hands together; tc articulate with her 
palsied tongue some form of prayer. It was the clutch at a 
straw of a soul drowning in the ocean of Eternity, that 
rolled in cold surges higher and higher with each priceless 
second. 

Forgive us ou/r l/respasses vs we forgive those who tres- 
pass against us^'^ 

Nothing else came in response to her desperate effort. 
Still drowning, the past crowded fast and distinctly upon her 
recollection. Implacable, pitiless in judgment and in con- 
demnation, she had lived unforgiving, and sue was dying 
piforgi'^^en. Quick to see ^d ready to censure her hu^b^nd’f 


851 


BETTER, FOR WOBSB.’’ 

fiiultB, she had never striven in love and faithfvdnesa to 
correct these. Still less had she put them steadfastly out oi 
Bight, and, by dwelling upon his gentleness and generosity, 
his ajffection for, and forbearance with her, so magnified 
the lustre of his fine qualities as to lose sight of the spots 
that disfigured his character. She had been no wife to him 
— but a rigid, unsparing critic, whose severity had driven 
him to avert her displeasure by deception, to seek happiness 
in other associations than her society. She envied poor 
Peggy, with her bniised cheek and aching, loyal heart. ‘‘ It’s 
like cutting a vein in my heart to go against him ! ” had 
pleaded the ill-used wife. And she^ petted, pampered, wor- 
shipped as she, at this late hour, believed that she had been, 
had banished her husband from home and country — perjured 
herself — lost her life and her soul ! 

As we forgive those who trespass against us ! ” 

He would never know that she had forgiven him; that 
against her will she had loved him always; that her last 
thought was made up of longing for him and remorse for the 
sorrow she had cost him ; useless regrets and vain yearnings 
for a glimpse of him — a word of endearment — a silent him \ 
Slie had chosen to live alone ; to suffer without companion- 
ghi]) and sympathy. She must die alone ! Still struggling, 
she w^as swept out into cold and darkness. 

Tones called her back that might almost have pierced the 
Bar of the dead. 

E ate ! my precious wife ! ” Then a deep sob and an 
uiip.issionea murmur, — O God ! spare my best beloved ! ’ 
I'he least possible tinge of color warmed the pallid lips 
mid cheeks ; the dark eyes opened slowly upon a manly face 
bathed in tears. 

‘‘ Stand back ! ” ordered the doctor. She knows you ! 
Tlie shock will be too great ! ” 

It will do her gcod ! It has revived her already ! ’’ cried 


8S8 


BETTER, FOR WOBSB.^ 


Sydney, not offering to rise from his knees, or to witbdraipi 
his arm from beneath his wife’s pillow. 

Kate smiled, like a weak, happy child, and whispered om 
word, - Stay ! ” 

‘‘ Always, darling.” 

She rallied in the sunshine of his presence with a rapidity 
til at won from those who heard the particulars of her extreme 
illness, extravagant encomiums upon the doctor’s skill. He 
liad, it was asserted, snatched Mrs. Bentley from the jaws 
of death, an achievement made more arduous by the relapse 
she had had at sight of her newly returned husband. Kate 
knew better than all this, but she could afford to let tht 
world form its own opinion. It was enough for her to 
oelieve that she owed her recovery, under Heaven, to the 
powerful magnetism of the agonizing love that would not let 
go its hold at the bidding of the giim enemy himself and 
that she purposed solemnly and gratefully to devote that 
restored life, next to that Heaven, to her husband. 

Mrs. Risley had written secretly to her brother upon 
learning that he was ignorant of the especial need that 
existed for his presence. Within an hour after the receipt 
of the letter, he was on board ship bound for his native 
land. 

And they lived together happily ever afterward ? 

I have not said it. Both had great and stubbon. faults, 
Bti*engthened by years of indulgence, and the eyes of each 
were fairly open to the existence of these in the other 
liOve works miracles, but the progress of these improve' 
ments is slow. Kor is the agent in these transforms, ions the 
unreasoning, idealistic affection that rarely outlives the first 
half-year of married life. Kate had ceased to adore her 
handsome husband, but the fulness of humility and gentlest 
charity that had supplanted idolatry led her to strive to 
restore the warped lines of his character to the just 


m 


“F0» BErrER, FOR WORSE.^ 

dicular, vrin him to complete confidence in her love, a-id the 
certainty of her lenient judgment of his shortcomings; to 
overlook foibles, and do honor to traits that were in 
themselves good and commendable. 

‘‘He may have been weak. It is certain that I wai 
wicked. Who am I that I should judge him?” she had 
frequent occasion to say to herself. 

And from the reflection would arise such meekness of 
spirit, such tenderness of bearing and language as put Syd 
ney upon his guard against the besetting sins that might 
wound this kindest, most loving of monitors. Of the trying 
initial period to their domestic peace they never speak ; sel- 
dom remember it, except in their prayers. It is not pleasant 
to recall a great agony, although it may have been the birth 
throe of joy as great. When the wife was strong enough to 
bear it, they had one long frank conversation upon the sub- 
iect of their estrangement. 

Once, some months later, Sydney would have renewed the 
lubject^ beginning with a self-depreciating remark. 

Kate checked him by a caress, serious and sweet. “ Th*? 
is a sealed book ! ” she said. “ Forgiveness without for^^et 
foluess is a mockery. ” 


Bnx 


JULIE P. SMITH’S NOVELS. 

“The novels by this author are of unusual merit, uncommonly well written, clever, 
jnd characterized by great wj<- and vivacity- They are growing popular and more popular 
every day.’* 

Widow Goldsmith’s Daughter. Chris and Otho. Ten Old Maids. The Widower. 

Cou ting and Farming. The Married Belle. Blossom Bud. Lucy, 

Kiss and be Friends, His Young Wife. 

Price $1.50 per VoL 

ALBERT ROSS’ NOVELS. 

New Cloth Bound Editions, 


“ There Is a great difference between the productions of Albert Ross and those 0£ 
some of the sensational writers of recent date. When he depicts vice he does it with an 
artistic touch, but he never makes it attractive. Mr. Ross* dramatic instincts are strong. 
His characters become in his hands living, moving creatures.” 


Thy Neighbor’s Wi^e. 
Her Husband’s Fnend. 
The Garston Bigamy, 
His Private Character. 
Young Fawcett’s Mabel. 


Young Miss Giddy. Why I’m Single. 
Speaking of Ellen. Love at Seventy. 
Moulding a Maiden. Thou Shalt Not. 
In Stella’s Shadow. A Black Adonis. 
Their Marriage Bond. (New). 

Price $1.00 per VoL 


An Original Sinner. 
Out of Wedlock. 
Love Gone Astray, 
His Foster Sister. 


JOHN ESTEN COOKE’S WORKS. 

“ The thrilling historic stories of John Esten Cooke must be classed among tliS BEST 
and most popular of all American writers. The great contc>t between the States .was the 
theme he chose for his Historic Romances. Following until the close of the war the for- 
tunes of Stuart, Ashby, Jackson, and Lee, he returned to “ Eagle s Nest,” his old home, 
where, in the quiet of peace, he wrote volume after volume, intense in dramatic interest.’’ 

Surry of Eagle’s Nest. Fairfax. Hilt to Hilt. Beatrice Lallam. 

Leather and Silk. ^ Miss Bonnybel Out of the Foam. Mohun. 

Hammer and Rapier. Captain Ralph. Stonewell Jackson. Robert £. Lee. 

Col. Ross of Piedmont. Her Majesty tht ^}ueen. 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 


CELIA E. GARDNER’S NOVELS. 


“ Miss Gardner’s works arc 
will continue to be popular long 


becoming more and more popular every year, and the 
after mauy of our present favorite writers are forgotten.’ 


Stolen Waters. (In verse), 
Bioken Dreams. Do. 

Compensation. Do. 

A Twisted Skein. Do. 
Tested, 


Rich Medway. 

A Woman’s Wiles, 

Terrace Roses. 

Seraph — or Mortal ? 

Won Under Protest. (New). 
Price $1,50 per Vol. 


CAPTAIN MAYNE REID’S WORKS. 

** Captain Mayne Reid’s works are of an intensely interesting and fascinating characte>- 
Nearly all of them being founded upon some historical event, they possess a permaneur 
Value while presenting a thrilling, earnest, dashing hetion surpassed by no novel of the day.’ 


The Scalp Hunters. 
The War TraiL 
The Maroon. 

The Tiger Hunter. 
Osceola, the Seminole* 
Lost Lenore. 


The Rifle Rangers, 

The Wood Rangers. 

The Rangers and Regulators. 
The Hunter’s Feast. 

The Quadroon, 

Price $1.50 per Vol. 


The Headless Horseman 
The Wild Huntress. 

The White Chief. 

Wild Life. 

The White Gauntlet. 


All the books on this list are handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold 
everywhere ^nd by mail, postage free, on receipt of price by 

Q* W. Dillingham Co., Publishers, 

i i9& 121 West23ci Street, New York. 


BEST NOVELS BY BEST AUTHORS. 


Dillingham’s Madison Square 

AND OTHER 25 CENT SERIES. 


By Mary J. Holmes. 

Tempest and Sunshine. Darkness and Daylight. 
’ Lena Rivers. Cameron Pride. 

The English Orphans. Rose Mather. 

Marian Grey. Ethelyn’s Mistake. 


By Marion Harland. 

Alone. Sunnybank. 

True as Steel. Moss Side. 

The Hidden Path. At Last. 

Ruby's Husband. Miriam. 

Nemesis. Husbands and Homes. 

Jessamine. My Little Love. 


By May Agnes Fleming. 


Guy Earlscourt’s Wife. 
A Wonderful Woman. 
A Terrible Secret. 

A Mad Marriage. 

A Wife’s Tragedy. 

One Night’s Mystery. 
Sharing Her Crime. 


Silent and True. 

A Wronged Wife. 
Kate Danton. 
Norine’s Reven^. 
Pride and Passion. 
The Heir of Charlton. 
A Changed Heart. 


By Bertha M. Clay. 

Thrown on the World. Love Works Wonders. 
Ladv Damar’s Secret. Evelyn’s Folly. 

A Bitter Atonement. A Struggle for a Ring. 

By Georgia Sheldon. 

Brownie’s Triumph. Earl Wayne’s Nobility, 
yhe Forsaken Bride. 


By Celia H. Gardner. 

Rich Medway’s Tvro Loves. Stolen Waters. 
A Woman’s Wiles. Tested. 

Terrace Roses. Her Last Lover. 

Broken Dreams. 


By Julie P. Smith. 

Widow Goldsmith’s Daughter. 

Chris and Otho. The Widower. 

Ten Old Maids. The Married Belle. 

His Young Wife. Courting and Farming. 


By M. 

Warwick. 

Hotspur. 

I^lu. 

StormcliiT. 


T. Walworth. 

Delaplaine. 

Beverly. 

Zahara. 


By Frank Lee Benedict. 


Madame. Hammer and Anvil. 

Her Friend. A Late Remorse. 


By 

frue to the Last, 
ike and Unlike, 
rime and Tide. 
Woman Our Angel, 
-sookiiig Arouna. 
Resolution. 


A. S. Roe. 

A Long Look Ahead. 

The Star and the Cloud. 
I've Been Thinking. 

How Could He Help It? 
To Love and To Be Loved 
The Cloud on. the Heart. 


By Allan Pinkerton. 

Expressman and Detectives. 
Somnambulist and Detectives. 
Claude Melnotte^ the Detective. 

Bank Robbei*8 and Detectives. 

Mollie Maguires and Detectives. 
Criminal Reminiscences. 

The Rail-Road Forger. 

A Double Life. 

The Gypsies and Detectives. 
Spiritualists and Detectives. 

Model Town and Detectives. 

Strikers and Communists. 

Mississippi Outlaws. 

Bucholz and the Detectives. 

The Burglar’s Fate. 

Professioual Thieves. 


By Capt Ma3rne Reid. 


The Rifle Rangers. 

The Wood Rangers. 
Osceola, the Seminole. 
The Headless Horseman. 
The Wild Huntress. 
Rangers and Regulators. 
Tho White Gauntlet. 

The White Chief. 


The Hunter's Feast. 
The War Trail. 

The Quadroon. 

The Tiger Hunter. 
Lost Lenore. 

The Maroon. ' 
Wild Life. 

The Scalp Hunters. 


By R. B. Kimball. 

Was He Successful? Virginia Randall. 

St. Leger. A Student's Romance. 


MISOHLLANEOUS. 

Nick Whiffles. Dr. J. H. Robinson. 

Buckskin Joe. By Maurice SUiugsby. 

Doctor Antonio. By Rulflni. 

Pole on Whist, with Portland Rules. 

Draw Poker without a Master. 

A Doctor's Don'ts. F. C. Valentine, M.D. 

A Lawyer’s Don'ts. By Ingersoll Lockwood. 
Habits of Good Society. 

Hand Book of Popular Quotations. 

Widow Spriggins. By author “ Widow Bedott.” 
Artemus Ward. Complete and Illustrated. 
Amber, the Adopted. Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
Country Ballads. Inc. “ Betsey and I Are Out.” 
Heart Hungry. By M. J. Westmoreland. 

All for Her. By author of “ All for Him.” 

Led Astray. By Octave Feuillet. 

Robinson Crusoe. By Daniel De Foe. 

Arabian Nights’ Entertainments. 

The Swiss Family Robinson. 

Don Quixote. By Cervantes. 

Peerless Cathleen. By Cora Agnew. 

Nearly Lost. By Annie M. Hucker. 

Faithful Margaret. By Annie Ashmore. 

Lady Leonora. By Carrie Conklin. 

Estelle. By Annie Edwardes. 

A Vagabond Heroine. By Annie Edwardes. 

A Woman’s Web. By C. V. Maitland. 

A Blue Stocking. By Annie Edwardes. 

Beatrice Cencl. From the Italian. 

A Chit of Sixteen. By Miriam Coles Harris. 


They are the handsomest paper-bound 
books in the market and sell much more rapidly 
than any other line of books published. 


y 


,6 1899 


T 


jm 


AUeUSTA J. EVAN^ 


UGNIFICEIIT NOTEIS. 


BEULAH, 

ST. ELMO, - - - - 

INEZ, 

MACARIA, • 

VASHTI, 

INPEMCE, - 

AT THE MERCY OF TIBERIUS, 


$1.7 

2.0 

1.7 

1.7 

2.0 

2.0 

2.0 


A Prominent Critic says of these Novels : 

“ The author’s style is beautiful, chaste, and elegaJ 
Her ideals are clothed in the most fascinating imagery, at 
her power of delineating character is truly remarkable. Or 
of the marked and striking characteristics of each and a 
her works is the purity of sentiment which pervades ever 
line, every page, and every chapter.” 


All handsomely printed and bound in cloth, sold everywher 
and sent by mail, postage free, on receipt of price, by 


1 =^ 


! G. W. DILLINGHAM, Publishef 

33 West 23rd Street, New York. 






j < 


fc. • 

4 r 


'i 4 





■* r* 1 ' 




1 - • 




V* / 


.’• <» 


m‘ 

. m ^ 


j». r* 


« . 


5»- » 

• * 

•«J - 


I 

i r 




.r ■ •iv; 


• rifiF' * >'i 


« f.'-: 


f- 


• iTi'^ -^ * * i^BfflH^W|lwi - • I . w 

, V f-' • . . ■ ■ •. *•■ . ir-i.' 

''i ' ''ii'"' 


• \> 


, ■ * ' ■ . ^ 

. -•, J-: ■»>*:. i.v ,v.'f> • , •■'•' 

• ' # . i 


- • .1 

1 . 

* 


i . -^y^: 




, *j-'. 


a 


. > • 






■“ > ’ 

. V * " *\-.-’ 
■ '' ' 


V' 




•i / 


1 .'. iT* 'Swlnl^l 

: ■ . i . ■iff'''- ^ ^ 

..' r’- 'V . ' :• •'V- 



. ,* 


' ) 




‘i. 


\ . 




f- 



- • V .•' '• '‘. ■ •. V V. • 

3 K ■"■■^ ■"'“ ' 

... 

l^V '''W^^.V., .-' . ‘ ,':Sl' 

f-H: ^>v<vJ5:'5j.:ii 



. 'C 

AJ •^■.^ rV'- 4 *. 
• .,. ,v*J 




i ^T * 



® - ■ 

- i«^T • 


> • 


r-.'l . . 


t * .• 

K '// 1 ' 

r 


!•-'•- ■' ■ 

» %j * 


I.-' 


*•' '' ?■ ■ V-? 

vr-- ’ ‘•;‘?v 

. 'VM... 

■I r', ■' • 


^f.^T 

»V' * 


/ . 

A \. 


r.rf r.^ 


w 


♦ 

I 


i^Ci 


*«r, 



'*'X 



1^ 







-* • i 

• 



BE 


\ ' •■’''■/■ BT-'S ' ' vV" . 

' —Sfc •r , .T • 

■'>^ft> ' V ■' -iV^" ‘A!? 

iJj- ' Sr • " 

r- tJ 




iii 


1. 1 


« K 


.7 • 




» • s S‘l . ' 

' i. 


• IM 




■ ><• 

r 


» I 


t • 


I 

• • •* 

' i 


4 -^4 


K * 





•’ t 





c\ 


X 


V 




■‘ M 



'K. ^ 


J;i^ 


» 5 '. •* -V . 




f» 7 ?' 




‘l 'f f.A, 


’ • -. - • **i A v 3 *■ ‘ - ■ ' mijWf I 

>kU*' •' rT , »/ * '.,•; '!i' ’ "jiff >*■■■►..'• I ., 't/x FiAsBpiBff 


ih. 






.'^U* 'A 








» « 


i 


• 4 ' • ' 

r-* ♦ . .f ••.K*>^/ 

' «■ *' ‘ * 





. . i ;. ' . i. 

* • 


.> 

J 


I V 






■ .'SiPP 

' ■■■'■'t li wt ''I r ;5t 


'^. v«. 

‘ 

■ ■'•* < 


w 

I 



• i.'.j' ?'^' ►' ^ -V' 


?>' 

.■ '■’ ^■- Vf*' •■’ '■^■''•' ' *•’• 

-■V V.** /'-'^ ’^-■^’*■’■ ’ ‘ ‘''' 

- J .. 

‘ . .. • ^ ■ 


4 

■ .V 






r'v 


• V • », 

* *. 0 *. • • 


V / . - 

-. ■' '■•iv-'..?-: - 




a 


^ V s.'r-.M 


• • >^ ‘i 


* 




t 4 




'-■ .yc ■ - ^v' < ■'''^■' 

■• • 4 W t • ’• - V '4 t '>V ^ *1 




, ww^ 4 




to 

** ^ 




.• ^ 


• * 



r'. . '•*;■ .-► ' ‘ Ha - 

V- •' «■■ 'JN.'* -. ^ ..• "^*' 

‘4; -»•■ » • A At >V« • 1 

* - ' • ■ . . '4^ 



• % 
i » 


.I . 




V- 




. ^ ^ 




> f 


*■'1 * 


' ,- '-'*>o'V’S''* 

,^ia;-y 



;!•: ■. yi.. .' if 

' Vv i .' •*. 


•: v^ 


’ ■ - '' KMK -'■^'SBi! 

x-'''.'".. ■• nHtefv •■■^ ■■■ ‘ 

S* t ** m . .> i. -■ T . • * L t' 

-ilii'H'-f ■ ^ ■ •'♦A.v-'r .■:‘- ' . ■'•■>V-v. >-• 

'■ r\ •Vs-'''. ' .'. ^■",^, Av':j‘ ‘ ' 

■■ .. . .'' 'Hbsi 




. • J< 


mr*\* * * 1.’ '■' • Amgf - t ^ •fs^«'. 'v7 

.VT.*' r i- f ' *' it/« • ^ 4 *^ ' 

4 .,^^ - ... 1 . :, . ^ .^.v -V* • 

. ^ ’ : 4 .-- . • ' ' ■ _lia'‘- ' .. f'-.' 


* ^ 





3 a v,v^ 4 ; 

f ■j^.vr.v 

• *. ?'rv 






I ‘ • -. ‘ w t , , ••>• %:.S •: r ^ • 

^ ? V ;^Av‘A' 

'> ~ ^ w* ' '- ^ ^ ‘ \ »■ ' ^ ^ • ■■ 

' •* ' '• U' ■ ‘ • - V < ^ . 

^■■\.> '> .S- >:v''!*' v.», ;■ ^ ;^ . 

■' '■ r , <;v . '^ •■ » t ' ,5 r > ■ %.\ 'i; ■■ i - ■' 

' /■ s' : ,- 

‘ ’. . ■ 'V. .%».-, I'.v*. ; „■> 


LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 


DD0e317b7flb 


- -I ' ■ V’ V /. ♦ ■■ ‘ „ % ■ ^ > > *♦ ; ' 1 '« ■ x' - ^ . k' - 

. ■• ^ K • : » ■ : » , V \ V ,'.■' :« ■•■ » *■ h '-f \ 

‘ ‘ ■ .■*S''M -Sv^ -^, 

- ’vx" ^ Stv - ‘, , .. S-,;.. 

\ • • I * « , •< . ’ ' 5 i •. ' , . ' ‘ V ^ a i. - ■ .• ■ ^ 

♦ 'r .■ s.''^ ' ^ t ■ - .■* '..■= -v . s : *. •.. 

■'(v: r ’.s^. ^ S I ■- •‘v.'-. 

; sv ,\ ;'s' .'-At ‘ ;. v'.' 

‘.s - u’ ■■•^‘‘ ' 

' ‘ ^ - . -^ \ • fc I : • 1 • • . . . 4 


, -i s 4 -. 'A C . I * ^ V ? A - : 1 / ,, •. . \ t ' 

..;s S‘ - ’ V- 'V ^ - VS s-'-S : 

^ '• > » - ‘ . * - P ‘ J* ■ ‘ 4 ^ , ^ ^ ' <» : ^ « 'j 

•.' f ■ 1/;' /■■■ 

^ j r- .. ^ %*■ - ::- \ •'■ > .1'^ /i.- 

1 « I ' • . i» ^ . '. • • ♦^ . , • ' 4 . ■ ^ » • , 

^ — . ■ ■ ; ? y - 1 \\ ‘ li'* ' V* • • 4 • j ' « ' • 

-’• ) . ■' ■ .V’ ■'•■'V': S, ' 

■ ,. •■ ' ' s’- V' i v’- ■' •• V ■ 

S' ,, ’S '-.. 

i' , - s » f ' ^ ^ i ^ 

' •■ ,• .•, .• I , \ .Vi •• . ‘v> -'; . i / 

" .1 ^ .a ‘.)'V- 

• "i ^' > 

■ \ • '***•' L C “• . 

: ' '.1 ’ 

^ , . ■ ’ • , •'■ V - ' ' ‘ 4 ” ' « 1 * V ' r ' 

■ ' ' . . I 4 f '■.: /•:.■ » ''S '. '■ * • ’ 

• -.A * • • - t ‘ . - 4 4 • #? t ' ,' r * ' 

’.■■•-• , ^ * . ■• •■ ’i t , I* ’ •• • . ' -s . * . 

, . ^ •• • : •• •/■■• /. ‘ . 4'* s ' - ; ^ '4 4 » 


• , I » •. 

V. 4 ' ' 

i 4 • I • ‘• 

.-.^ - ■- -A ■ 

•'. I H 4 

> ’ ^ i : ‘ 

V. . H • i ^ V 

,4 • 

•** if 2^ . 

9 • , I « 

• I 4 V 

H . •' : 

' "■ / ' :.' f ' 

* •“ • '. 'c •' • 

= l 

t’' /’• ♦ ; 

. ■ 4 - = • • ■-> . 

... |t » V A 

■'■''■A 
, ; • ■ J % 





